Inside Eden's Mind
by Lone Wolf8
Summary: A look inside the mind of one of Gotham's least understood, and most dangerous, villains. Pamela Lillian Isley, 5' 9", 152 lbs, currently being treated by the recently hired psychiatrist, Dr. Hazel Birch. Rated M in later chapters
1. Paging Doctor Birch

It was two in the morning when the call came, and it quickly made Hazel Birch decide that the ring of a mobile phone was the most horrible sound in existence. She swung her arm out without lifting her head off the pillow; she knocked her alarm clock off her nightstand, cursed, sat up, and grabbed her phone.

"Yes?" she asked groggily.

"Dr. Birch," the weary voice of a night shift attendant replied, "We need you at the Asylum immediately. Pamela Isley is having a breakdown. She demands to see you, she won't speak with anyone else."

Birch sat up straighter, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She had been meeting with Pamela Lillian Isley, A.K.A. Poison Ivy, for a little over 7 months no breakthroughs or incite; this sort of emotional upheaval was a strange occurrence for Isley. Birch assured the person on the other end of the line that she was on her way, told him to relay that message to Pamela, and said she would be there in half an hour.

Birch was the only psychiatrist Pamela Isley had seen for more than a week without attempting to kill the person. This was all anticipated by the doctor, after all, she had written her master's thesis on the psychology of Poison Ivy. That thesis was what got her the job at Arkham Asylum. It was a dangerous position to be in, but in the world of criminal psychiatry there was no where more glamorous to be, and certainly no where with a better salary; it was a high-risk, high-reward, facility with excellent pay and astounding health benefits in the event of any... unpleasantness.

From Poison Ivy's point of view, Hazel was as close to acceptable as a human being could be. Hazel was a woman, both her first and last names came from plants, she was extremely eco-conscious, and she had a strict diet; never eating anything from a plant that hadn't fallen off naturally as part of their life cycle. However, Hazel had recently begun to rethink her thesis, now believing it was totally off base when she theorized that Pamela's hatred of humans stemmed from something another person had done to her in her younger years.

After the time she'd spent with Isley in the past few months Dr. Birch had become fairly certain that Isley's slow transformation from human to plant-being was the deciding factor; tonight, however, could change all of that. Isley was escorted to the therapy chamber 15 minutes after Dr. Birch arrived. The chamber was a room with a soft grass green coloration and a grated window that looked out over the asylum's front lawn. There was a couch, an arm chair and a plastic coffee table with rounded edges in the room. All the furniture was bolted to the floor to ensure no make shift weapons could be made.

Of course, with Poison Ivy such a thing was unlikely. Physical combat wasn't something she opted for unless under extreme duress. She preferred subtlety and manipulation whenever possible. Doctor Birch understood all this. In fact, she was now fairly certain she understood the criminal more than Pam understood herself. When Pamela stepped in Hazel greeted her with a soothing smile.

"Pam, the orderlies told me you were asking to see me?" Birch asked calmly, using the sort of gentle tone a teacher would use to calm an upset child.

Pamela's eyes were red as strawberries and her nose was crinkled up like a flower bud in a constant effort to stop sniffling. She looked as if she'd been crying for hours. When Hazel spoke to her she slumped like a wilting lily. She managed to take two steps toward Dr. Birch then she tumbled to her knees and dragged her hands out, clutching at Hazel's feet and sobbing.

"I-I- Oh goddess.. I've made mistakes! Horrible mistakes, Hazel!" Pamela stammered, her voice cracking erratically as she stifled back sobs. "All those innocent people, all because of what happened to me!" She gasped, choking back the sobs once more as she hid her face in the crook of her own arms.

Hazel dropped to a kneel next to the crying asylum inmate, gently touching her shoulder. "Pamela, calm down." She soothed, her voice still calm and controlled. "It's all right. It's all going to be all right. Look at me, Pamela; that's it, look at me."

The psychiatrist gently pulled Pamela to her feet, smiling kindly as she led the red head to the chair opposite her own and ushered her into it. "Now, take a deep breath and tell me what's happening."

Pam nodded slowly, like a child recovering from some horrible shock. "I ... I've remembered... I remembered it."

"Remembered what, Pamela?"

"What caused it! All of it.. Why I hate everything.. humans, men, dogs... I remember. I was..." Once more Pamela Isley broke down, burying her face in her hands as she wailed in humiliation. "I was nine years old!!! Nine years old and that sick bastard, he, he..!"

Hazel's jaw dropped. She was grateful Pamela wasn't looking as she struggled to regain herself. This was an incredible break through, just the sort she'd been hoping for. She rose from her own chair and once more set a hand on Pamela's shoulder. "Pamela, look at me. It's all okay, you're safe, that person isn't here now... Calm down, let's try and get you more comfortable, all right?"

Dr. Birch pulled out her employee badge and held it up to a small scanner on the right handcuff bracelet, this was the only method of unlocking cuffs for Arkham patients, a security measure installed after one to many quick-fingered criminals had stolen the keys, now only certain doctors and guards designated to specific patients were able to unlock that particular patients handcuffs. Under normal circumstances she would never remove her patients cuffs while they were alone, but given the circumstances restraining Pamela hardly seemed necessary. Even once the cuffs were removed Isley didn't seem to notice. She wiped at her nose, sniffled, and murmured almost incoherently to herself.

"I was staying at my father's house... It was just after the separation. He had a friend over... Hugh, he said his name was. Hugh Manning." Pamela went on, staring up at Hazel with tear filled eyes.

Dr. Birch gasped. "Hugh Manning." She spoke in a near whisper while Pamela nodded in agreement. "It explains a fair bit. Hugh Manning-"

"Humans." Pamela surmised, then sniffled and wiped at her nose again. "And... And we were..." she trailed off again, choking on her own tears before she could continue. "We were in the garden that my mother and I started together. My father went out to pick up some ice, the icebox was broken and he... He left me with that... That beast!"

Hazel marveled at the realizations. A man with a name ripe for psychological suggestion, a location where they were surrounded by passive plant life, which likely got damaged in the struggle. So many different strikes at once, damaging the garden that she'd built with her mother, her father's apparent failure to protect her from an attacker, a strange man assaulting her, and all just after the divorce. The psychiatrist reached out and gently stroked Pamela's back, giving a soothing shush as her patient broke down in tears once more. Pamela was bending double, clutching at her knees as if she were trying to bury her face into her own abdomen like a turtle withdrawing into it's shell; her sobs were so hard that sounded like that must have physically hurt her, often making her break into rasping coughs as she struggled to contain herself.

"It's not... It's not okay! It'll never be okay! None of it! What he did, what I've done! Oh goddess, all those people, they di- they didn't deserve it!" Pamela sobbed, shaking her head in denial and digging her fingers into her scalp beneath her deep crimson hair. "After it happened he... he threatened me, threatened to kill my father if I told him, he said he'd killed before, said he would do it again.... He said it was fun, it was easy... I was so scared. I couldn't... I couldn't take it... I was so scared. I must have repressed it all... But it came back... Came back and I... I woke up. Goddess, I vomited, I couldn't even take it. The images, the memories... His sick, fat hands... "

As Pamela explained the nature of her recollection Hazel watched her sadly, listening to the beautiful woman as she confessed the nature of her anguish between sobs, sniffles and the occasional dry-heave. Dr. Birch had tried so hard to try and find out what truly led to the creation of Poison Ivy, she had wanted to know where Isley's rage truly stemmed from, she knew it had to have been deep-seated long before the experiment that turned her into Poison Ivy had ever happened. Now that she knew the truth, however, Hazel found herself unable to feel successful or triumphant, or even excited. All she felt at the moment was pity and compassion for the poor tortured woman in front of her. It went against protocol but she knelt in front of Pamela and wrapped her arms around the crying woman, stroking her back and giving gentle coos to try and calm her down the way a mother would comfort a child.

"Shhh, I've got you Pam. You're safe, you're safe here. We care about you here, we'll protect you, we won't let anything else bad happen to you." Dr. Birch soothed, pulling back as Pamela lifted her head.

For a few moments Pamela simply sat there, sniffling and staring up at the psychiatrist. Finally the red-head offered a grateful smile of thanks, Hazel smiled back at her and for a moment the two women's eyes met. In that moment Hazel felt the spark of realization.

The doctor was suddenly, acutely aware that she was kneeling before a world renowned criminal mastermind who specialized in mental manipulation. A woman whose cunning and guile had deceived the heroes of the Justice League, and even Gotham's own Dark Knight. She suddenly realized the vulnerability she had placed herself in. It was one of those brief moments of understanding before the consequence occurs but after the mistake has already been made.

Sometimes it happens fast enough to correct the mistake, but sometimes it just seems to occur in slow motion, other times it happens faster than one can blink. Doctor Birch realized her mistake, but by the time she did it was too late to react. The villainess's green lips were locked with hers!

It was more passionate than she expected. She thought in order to poison her all that Pamela would need to do was lock lips, this was more than that, heat, passion, vigor she didn't expect. It was warm and gentle, incredibly soothing and far more pleasure inducing than any kiss she'd ever shared with her long-term boyfriend of 4 years, Eric. Before this moment Hazel had never had a lesbian experience. In college she was too busy studying to do any "experimenting" and after college the idea never even cross her mind though.

This was remarkable both from a stimulating perspective and just from the very nature of it. This was a super villain, a woman who's kiss could be poisonous, but it wasn't right now. There was no pain, no tingle, no burning sensation; it was... delicate. Hazel marveled at the experience. Isley truly was plant-like, and the realization was slightly startling. Pamela's lips felt like newly blossomed rose petals, very soft and tender. Briefly Hazel acknowledged that lips like these were the kind you wanted to nibble at and suck upon, the sort of lips that you never wish to pull your own away from; they were so soft and soothing that Hazel never wished to stop feeling them.

Only when kiss changed was this obsessive train of thought broken. She now felt Pamela's tongue deftly slipping past her lips and into her mouth. It twirled around her own tongue like a slithering snake, then began to deftly wiggle through Hazel's mouth, exploring it in intimate detail as if Pamela wished to memorize every bit of it. Once more Hazel found herself enraptured by the feel of it. Pamela's saliva was like no normal humans, it tasted of honey and nectar and sweet fruity flavors that teased the doctor's tongue in ways that made a happy smile tug at the corners of her lips while she kissed her patient.

Pamela smell of sandal wood and citrus, her fingertips framing Hazel's face were like the brush of young leaves stroking her flesh during a hike through the woods. When Ivy's hands ran through her hair and pulled her in closer she felt an exhilaration like she didn't know existed! Finally the green skinned woman broke the kiss and Hazel actually pouted, she leaned forward and tried to reclaim it but Pamela smiled and pushed her back gently with a little laugh.

"No, Hazel... No. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, it's the enzymes and pheromones your feeling right now, not any true appeal for me. I apologize." Pamela whispered as she pulled away, still smiling. She took Hazel's hands and held them in her own as she went on, her voice kept low, her tone exceedingly gracious and grateful. "Thank you... Thank you, doctor, for everything you've done for me. For all the work, all the long sessions, for not giving up on me... thank you!"

Once more Hazel found herself stunned. First she'd thought she was about to die, poisoned by her own patient then she'd felt euphoric, aroused, excited, like a love smitten girl at school. Now that the initial rush of pheromones she'd experienced from touching Ivy's lips was fading, she was left only with the awkwardness of being kissed by someone of the same sex, and someone she most definitely was not meant to be kissing. She wasn't sure what to do. She was straight, she had never looked at Pamela as anything but a very interesting patient and yet now, to spurn her when she was in such a fragile state... She slowly stood up as Pamela settled back into her chair, calmer and no longer sniffling.

"Pamela, I-"

"I know. You're not 'that way'. I'm sorry, it's just how I've become used to showing my gratitude." Pamela interrupted, giving a apologetic little half-smile.

Hazel couldn't help a sigh of relief. "It's all right. For a moment I thought- And then when you kissed me I thought..." She trailed off, shaking her head, fighting off a sudden impulse to laugh at how strange the situation was.

"You thought I was trying to poison you, didn't you?" Pamela deduced, looking forlorn.

Dr. Birch looked at her apologetically but nodded earnestly. "I did. I'm sorry I did, you've changed so much tonight, you seem like a brand new person, but it's still hard to believe. When I realized how close I was to you, and how easy it would be... there was a brief moment where I got scared."

"Yes... I understand." Pamela replied, nodding gently. "I'm sure many of the people in my past felt the same way... The things I did... Goddess, they were just so..." Again she stopped and buried her face in her hands as her shoulders began to tremble and shake.

Once more Dr. Birch drew close. She rubbed Pamela's back in small circles and cooed soothingly once more to try and stem the tide of sobs she suspected might soon over take Pamela once more as the red head fought to control her emotions. Hazel knew Pamela had done horrible things in the past, but, it was clear now that she regretted what she had done and even seemed to be experiencing massive amounts of guilt over the experience.

"Pamela, I understand. It's going to be hard accepting your past now that you've come to realize your own activities and misdeeds. I want you to get some sleep all right? I think what you need rest right now more than anything else. I'll arrange so that we can have therapy session tomorrow morning at 10:30, how does that sound?" Dr. Birch inquired, gently stroking her fingers across Pamela's back in that same soothing caress.

Pamela finally stopped shaking and lifted her hands away from her face, turning her gaze upward and nodding at Hazel gratefully. "I would appreciate that, Doctor..."

Dr. Birch moved to the door's intercom and requested the return of Isley's guards to take the patient back to her room. After a few minutes conversation for clearance and authority checks, ensuring that the doctor was in no way under the thrall of the villainess, the guards prepared to return Ivy to her cell. By this time she had already made the decision to stay at Arkham over night, there was no avoiding it. She needed to be on hand in case her patient woke up again and she now had a lot of paper work to fill out.

"Now, Pamela, I'm going to be here all night so I don't want you to worry. If you wake up and you need me all you'll need to do is call for a guard and ask for me." Dr. Birch explained as they waited for the guards. "I wish I could give you a sedative to help you sleep but-"

"Yes, Doctor, I'm aware of how my own body works." Pamela replied with a slim smile, nodding her understanding. "No such medication will work on me."

Hazel nodded in agreement and once more she marveled at her patient. Isley was an astounding creature, no poison on the planet could affect her, no medication, no toxin, no chemical of any sort. Hazel had read that Pamela had even taken a full force blast of laughing powder from the Joker only to respond by kick him in his privates. The image in her mind made Hazel have to smother a tiny laugh. When she'd regained herself she noticed Pamela looking longingly out the window. The psychiatrist slowly made her way over and touched Pamela's shoulder.

"Would you like me to see about arranging for an out door privilege? It may take awhile, and you'd need to be on good behavior for a few weeks to prove you've earned it..."

"No doctor, no... Hazel, you've done enough for me already, please, just... Thank you." the botanist looked up at Dr. Birch with another grateful smile, taking her one of the doctor's hands gently in her own. "Thank you for not giving up on me. For believing that somewhere under all this green I was still... Human." She lifted Hazel's hand and kissed it softly, then let it go.

A few moments later two maximum security guards trained particularly to handle Poison Ivy entered the room. They secured Ivy in her handcuffs and leg cuffs, then escorted her back to her chamber while Dr. Birch made her way to her office to write up her findings and theories based on what she'd just learned from her patient.

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**Author's Note: **

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls,

psychopaths and sociopaths, criminals and detectives!

I do hope you have enjoyed the first step in our journey into the darkness of the green.

My love for Ms. Isley runs quite deep, and I hope I will be able to inspire a few new fans for the lovely goddess of green by writing this story.

If you've enjoyed it, please do leave a review, and do stay tuned; but reader beware, this story is not for the faint of heart or mind. It will grow progressively darker, more shocking, and more intense as it continues. I won't consider it a success unless I manage to give at least one reader a bad dream about their own garden, or perhaps get an outraged response from someone disapproving of Ivy's male-hatred and/or goddess worship.


	2. Calling in a Favor

Pamela Isley slowly staggered into her cell and sat down limply on her bed, which was bolted to the stone floor. As the guards sealed the door and made their way back down the hall she straightened up and ran a hand through her hair with a weary sigh. The tranquilizer had no affect upon her, no chemical agent did unless she wanted to allow it to. She was resistant to every chemical compound on the planet, not even masters of toxin like the Joker of the Scarecrow could affect her with their poisons.

Her cell was unique. Most of the asylum patients were kept in the typical padded room with an iron door. In maximum security, however, the walls were steel-reinforced bunker grade concrete with arched peaks to resist explosive blasts. This wing of the facility was built shortly after the rise of the Batman, and the numerous psychotics who came to dwell in Gotham as his eternal opposition. For many Arkham inmates, blasting their way out—or having someone do it for them—was a very really possibility and Arkham's cells were designed accordingly.

The cell doors in the Max. Sec. ward were automated sliding doors made from five inch thick bullet proof glass. This ensured that the security patrols could see into the cells and clearly observe the inmates at all times, preventing the patients from attempting an ambush of their guards when food was delivered. The doors between the Max ward and the rest of the Asylum were twin non-reflective titanium vault doors. Only one could be opened at a time, a person had to step into the small passage between the two doors and seal the first one before they could open the second. Both these doors, and all the prison cell doors were operated by key cards, held only by select individuals.

Only the chief of security and his four captains, Dr. Arkham and the doctor assigned to treating a patient held cards capable of opening that patient's cell door. This meant that only 7 people in the hospital held cards capable of opening a patient's door. Pamela's cell was also outfitted with a special air filter in the ceiling. The specially built fan-filter system was designed to ensure that any enzyme, poison, powder, or pheromone she released would be pulled straight up into the filter rather than being able to escape out into the corridors. In addition to this protection any time a guard interacted with her they were required to wear gas masks. The four guards who were specially trained to handle Poison Ivy were all women, make them less likely to be susceptible to Ivy's pheromones... Or so they believed.

Arkham Asylum took no chances with Miss Isley. Her cell held no windows, and any vegetable or fruit included in a meal for her or the cells adjoining her own, Harleen Quinzel's and Jonathan Crane's, had to be thoroughly filtered to ensure no living seeds were in them. No living plant life was allowed to come within Pamela Isley's line of sight. The cell was a sad, miserable existence for a woman who thrived when exposed to fresh air, clean water, and sunlight. She resigned herself to spending most of her time lying on her bed, leafing through a small collection of books she was allowed to keep. Occasionally she would talk through the air grate to Harley on the cell to her left. She rarely deigned to talk with Jonathan Crane because, firstly, he was a man, and secondly he constantly badgered her to team up with him and help him create a fear-toxin with no antidote.

Tonight, Pamela sat on her bed with her head in her hands. She was drowsy already but the tranquilizer had yet to fully kick in. She was in that strange state of clarity one finds herself to be in when the waking world is slipping away and the relaxation of approaching sleep is close at hand. She could think clearly, calmly, and even gave a small satisfied smile at the peace of the moment... It was all ruined by an irritating "pssst!" from the vent grate that was set into the wall at the bottom of the cell, right under Pamela's bed. This was the easiest method of communication, while the cells were not sound proof they were very thick, as a result the only way to speak without being over heard was to whisper through the vents.

"Red?" A normally soft voice hissed at an irritating pitch.

Pamela sighed huskily and closed her eyes. "Harley, I'm tired."

"Oh! ...Sorry." The blonde whispered.

Pamela pulled back her covers and kicked off her slippers, sliding into bed and closing her eyes.

"Hey Red?"

Pamela pressed her plump green lips together in irritation, hissing back without bothering to open her eyes. "What?"

"Are ya okay?"

"I'm fine, Harley."

"Oh... Good!" Harley declared merrily.

Pamela sighed and closed her eyes, ready to sleep at last.

Crunch. Click. Crunch. Snap. Crinkle. Crunch.

"Harley?" Pamela asked quietly, interrupting the irritating rhythm of sounds.

"Yeah?" Harley replied from her cell.

"What are you eating?"

There was a sudden rustling and crinkling that Pamela guessed had to be Harley shoving a bag under her pillow.

"Nothin'..." Harley replied after a few moments.

"Harley, I heard it. We're not supposed to have unsanctioned food... Especially not sunflower seeds."

"How did you know!?" Harley gasped with awed excitement in her voice. "Red, are you turnin' psychic!?"

"I can smell the scent, and practically hear their burnt souls crying for revenge..." Ivy seethed in quiet indignation. "How can you sit their and eat innocent newborns, roasted in a fire before they even had a chance to grow?!"

"....Cause I'm hungry..." Harley replied in a sheepish whisper that was to cute for Ivy to ignore.

For all her hatred of human cruelty toward plant life, Harley was such a sweet, kind, innocent creature, proof that even humans could be redeemed with the proper care. Somewhere within the twisted roots of her form Ivy held a soft spot for Harley, more than that... She held love for her, as much love and care as she held for a rare rose or a beautiful fern.

"What did you get those seeds, Harley?"

"I called in a favor from Jervis."

At this Pamela's green eyes sprang wide open. Like Dr. Birch earlier in the evening it was that moment after a mistake has been made but before it's consequences begin, but unlike Dr. Birch this mistake was slow, and Poison Ivy had plenty of time to react to it.

"Harley... If you want to make up for eating those poor dead seedlings, there is something you could do to make me happy." Pamela cooed in a rich voice as smooth and intoxicating as fresh honey.

"There, there is?" Harley sniffled, rubbing at her nose as she sat in her bed, clutching the half-eaten bag of sunflower seeds and looking at it forlornly, as if it were a dead kitten she'd struck with a car.

"Mmmhmmmm, there is... Do you still have anyone who owes you favors...? Someone other than a current in-mate?

"Uhm-m-m-m-m-m!" Harley hummed in thought, scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out. "Oh, oh! I have a guard who re-e-e-e-eally owes me a favor!"

Pamela gave a disgusted groan. "I'm not even going to ask what you did..."

"It's not watcha think!" Harley replied with a moderate tone of disgust. "I'm not _that_ pent up!"

"...Just for the ones in clown make up." Ivy muttered, believing her words were to quiet to be heard, but Harley gave a hurt little gasp, and then a sniffle.

Pamela sighed and closed her eyes. "Harley... Harl... I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, it's just been a long day. I'm sorry, Harl, please forgive me?"

Another sniffle echoed through the vents and Ivy persed her lips in distress. Harley could make a real racket when she was upset, the rival of any infant or toddler, and noise at this critical moment might spoil Pamela's idea.

"Harley, please, you can't be mad at me when I'm already mad at you for eating poor, sweet, innocent seedlings! It's just not fair!" Pamela reason, completely illogically.

Suddenly Harley ceased to sniffle. "I guess it isn't really fair to be mad at you when you're mad at me..." Harley declared slowly, as if trying to grasp the idea made her brain hurt.

Sometimes Pamela wondered how this woman had earned a Ph.D In psychiatry, but then, Harley had been the inspiration for her current actions.

"That's right Harley, it's just not fair. Now, do you want to make up for being an accessory to the murder of those poor little babies?"

"Uh huh!" Harley replied, sounding suddenly both sad and solemn.

"Good... Well, the best news is you've already begun to help me."

"I have?!" Harley exclaimed in wonder.

"Shhh, quiet dear. Yes, you have... you see, you've been a marvelous inspiration to me. You've been a big help for me in my therapy sessions with Dr. Birch."

"Really?" Harley asked, her voice still filled with child-like wonder.

"Oh yes... In fact, Dr. Birch has been such a wonderful help to me that I want you to do something for me that I can't do."

"What is it Red, I'd do anything for ya!"

Pamela's dark green lips curled into the wide patronizing smile one would expect from a queen addressing peasant subjects.

"Can call in your favor, and have some flowers delivered to Dr. Birch?"

"Flowers?? But Red won't that be moider too!?"

"Not chopped flowers you silly girl!" Pamela exclaimed in horror, cringing at the very idea of it. "I don't want her to receive amputees! I want to send her a potted plant, something pretty and fast growing, but it has to be anonymous, just have the florist deliver a generic shop card with no sender's name; if she knows it's from me she'll probably think I'm doing something nasty and throw it out. I just want to give her a thank you gift for all the help she's been to me."

"Aaaaaw, Red. That's awful kind of ya!"

"What can I say, Harley? I'm a kind hearted woman, I just want everyone to stop and take the time to smell the roses just like I do. Now, listen carefully because there's a very specific plant I want you to have sent to her, it's a beautiful flowering plant and I think she'll absolute adore it!"

"Okay, Red, sure! Whatever you say!"

"That's my girl..."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

**A.N. **

Summer's here, make sure you're watering your plants morning and evening to help stave off the effects of the heat.


	3. Doctor Patient Confidentiality

Dr. Birch jerked awake with a stammered outcry. How long had she been asleep? Where was she? Why did her neck hurt? Slowly Hazel looked around and the answers to the questions came. She was in her office, the clock on the wall read 9:46, she had been asleep for roughly four hours. She'd drifted off in the midst of writing a new report about her patient, Pamela Eisley.

Pamela... Dammit! She had a therapy session with Eisley in just under 45 minutes and she was unprepared! Frantically the young psychiatrist began hurtling through lists and questions she'd drawn up in the early morning hours, things she wanted to ask Pamela during this morning's session. Some of them she dismissed for being to intrusive this early in Pam's healing process, other's she deemed to be crucial questions for the beginning of Pamela reformation into a productive member of modern society. In the comfort of her office, Hazel was free to think of herself for a brief moment, and the publicity she could get if this actually happened. If she could redeem Poison Ivy the world as they knew it would change, this woman could do incredible things. She could help stop global warming, she could regrow decimated forests, even end world hunger on a whim; she had the potential to be an amazing provider for the entire world and sometimes Hazel felt like she was the only one who saw that... She and Batman, after all, if he didn't see the potential in Eisley he wouldn't be so gentle with her, she was one of the few villains he brought in who didn't have to be rushed to intensive care immediately.

Batman... What part did he play in Ivy's current condition? It was something to consider in their meeting. Hazel was now looking forward to the session even more than she had been the night before, she was able to get ready even sooner than she expected and was in the meeting room waiting for Ivy when the inmate-patient was escorted into the chamber by her guards.

"Good morning, Pamela. You're looking better." Hazel announced, smiling at her patient and gesturing to the chair across from her.

With the morning sun shining through the window, Ivy had a rare chance to bask in the warmth of sunlight. She sat down in the chair and tossed her long red hair, back over her shoulders, letting the sun shine upon her face. In the sunlight her pale green flesh shifted hue, taking a vibrant color more closely comparable to the skin of a golden-delicious apple. Remarkable didn't begin to describe her beauty, it was one thing Hazel couldn't help but feel a slight envy toward, as most women who laid eyes on Pamela did. After the transformation brought down upon her by Dr. Jason Woodrue, she blossomed mentally a physically, gaining the sort of body that super models starved themselves for, and Hollywood starlets sought ought plastic surgeons for.

Curvaceous was putting it mildly! Pamela's legs seemed to go on forever. Her eyes were vibrant emerald green and her lashes were so long most would immediately assume them to be fakes. Of course, the biggest "fake" outcry always came down to the breasts with Isley. The woman's chest was perfect in a way both unnatural and yet impossible achieve through any sort of implants. To call them "melons" wouldn't be an insult to Poison Ivy, it was probably the most accurate word to use in describing the plant-controlling meta-humans breasts; they were rounder, fuller, and firmer than any normal woman's breasts could be, and yet they still looked soft enough to be a very inviting pillow. What man wouldn't want to feel breasts like those? What woman wouldn't want to have them! It didn't matter if it was in a costume or a asylum jumpsuit and a straight-jacket, she always looked marvelous.

Ivy always had perfect nails too, never in need of a manicure or pedicure, never even in need of trimming, they were never dry or cracked or chipped. And her skin! It was as supple as newly opened flower petals, her lips were were as plump and soft as a fresh peach; and when she walked her hips swayed like a pendulum. Dr. Birch would kill for just one of these assets, let alone all of them.

Birch was attractive, but not remarkable. Slim and fit, a bit on the mousy side, with thin framed glasses perched on her nose and her curly brown hair pulled back into a bun to try and keep it more contained. She couldn't come close to competing with Pamela Isley, no one she'd ever met could. She was suddenly aware of just how very long she'd sat their silently admiring and envying Pamela's beauty, and the fact that her patient was staring rather expectantly at her. Hazel shook her head to rouse herself from her thoughts and made a quick apology to Pamela.

"I'm sorry, Pam, my mind was still on our discussion last night. Tell me, do you feel comfortable discussing it further?" the psychiatrist asked tentatively.

"I... I think I can." Pamela replied slowly, her eyes dropping toward the floor.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Pam asked, looking up again.

"Don't feel bad... Don't let yourself become a victim years after the fact. The psychological effects of sexual abuse are horrendous Pamela, they truly are; but what's happened has happened, and you can't let yourself slump into a horrific world of blame and "What If?" wanderings. Stay here, stay in the moment."

"All right..." Pamela replied, nodding slowly. "I'll try."

"That's all anyone can do. Now... Tell me about the garden you and your mother built."

Pamela gave a dreamy sigh at that, closing her eyes with a sad smile. "Mother loved Lily's... She adored stargazer lilies."

"Did you help her plant them?"

"Right at the start of spring... Just... Just before my father said he- Said he wanted a divorce." Pamela choked up suddenly, clenching her eyes shut and ball her hands into fists upon her thighs. "He never... He never explained **why**! She was a faithful wife, a loving mother... She was wonderful... I suppose if I'm truly honest so was he. He wasn't the brightest man in the world, blue collar through and through, but he did his best to make sure we lived a decent life. And then... When **it** happened... When he shoved me down, I landed on the stargazers, they never had a chance... The poor things."

Hazel gazed sadly at Pamela as she began to sniffle, then she with drew handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to her patient. Handing Poison Ivy a box of tissues was a very, very, **very** bad idea. It would be the equivalent of showing a catholic priest a bottle of stem-cells. You simply didn't take such risks when you were sitting in a room with a convicted murderer. Isley took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, then lifted them to look at Hazel.

"I... I still don't remember a lot, Doctor. Just, images, flashes."

"It's probably better if you don't try to remember it all, Pamela. You know what happened now, there's no reason for you to have to relive every detail of it now that you do. Let's focus more on the things that have led you down the path you followed, the more we uncover the better chance we have of help you rid yourself of your compulsions."

"All right."

"Good." Hazel smiled reassuringly, then decided to shift the topic further away from the sexual abuse to help relax Pamela after noticing how stiffly the green woman was sitting. "Tell me something Pam, last night you said you hated dogs... Why dogs? I would think you'd be more upset with herbivores... Maybe cows?"

Pamela blinked, then sneered softly. "You know, everyone assumes plants are all I love. That's not true. I love everything about nature, in equal balance. All of nature's creatures, plant and animal alike, have a place in this world. Without animals most plants can't successfully fertilize. Without plants, animals have no way to get oxygen or proper nutrients. As cliché as Disney made it sound, there is a great circle of life in nature. The antelope eat the grass, the lions eat the antelope, the lions die and become fertilizer for the grass. It all balances out.

"I don't hate cows, but I hate that humans turn millions of acres of forest into nothing but grazing fields for cows that will serve no purpose save to fill mankind's gluttonous belly... As for dogs, well, I didn't say I hate wolves, or coyotes, or _hyenas_. No, I hate the _modern_ _domestic_ **dog**. There was a time when they were partners to humans, the two co-existed, helping one another survive... Now dogs are just pets, fashion accessories, or living toys for children whose parents are to lazy too look after their offspring. And what do dogs do, that gets them into more trouble than anything except peeing on the carpet...?"

Hazel blinked, then suddenly nodded in understanding. "They dig up the garden."

"And do you know why?" Pamela persisted.

"Why, Pam?"

"Because the damned human who bought the dog doesn't take the time necessary to help the poor beast get proper interaction, companionship, exercise! Plants and animals alike, they need _attention_. A healthy, happy, well cared for dog does not dig; A dog digs when it's upset. They dig when they feel trapped, they dig when they have too much energy and not enough room to run around, they dig when they feel frenzied and have no one to play with, they dig when they're aroused because their master refused to spay or neuter but also refused to buy the poor thing a mate! I hate dogs because of what they've become. Honestly, I feel sorry for them, because the usefulness of most breeds is dying out and now they're little more than another pretty decoration in the picturesque American family."

Hazel listened to this long-winded explanation intently, not so much for the context of it but for the underlying meaning behind Pamela's words. For the next hour and a half Dr. Birch listened to Pamela discuss her mother, her father, her life before the experiment and the general experience she had with her family. Pamela shared how her neighbor's dog broke into their yard and ate her pet bunny just weeks after she'd gotten it on her 7th birthday. She learned of Ivy's difficulties with a particularly debilitating and demoralizing science teacher in grade school, and with the hardships of coming to terms with her sexuality in high school. Her father had rejected the idea that she was gay and had promptly stopped associating with her; Hazel knew that such a vehemently negative response probably only reinforced Pamela's already growing hatred of men.

The more Pamela talked about her past, the more she opened up to her psychiatrist, the more the young doctor began to realize that Pamela Isley was most definitely not a lost cause; she was a woman driven over the edge by a life filled with unpleasant experience and unfriendly people, and if they could just worked through those issues and hardships Hazel believed wholeheartedly that Ivy could have a second chance at life.

Half a mile underneath Arkham Asylum another person listened to the confessions of Pamela Isley, his observation of the therapy session completely unknown to patient and doctor alike. In the background there was the soft drip of a leaking plumbing fixture, accompanied by a chorus of squeaking rodents deeper in the old tunnels that ran through out the underbelly of the asylum. The only source of light came from the soft glow of a flat screen computer monitor which displayed the combined files with every scrap of information he had about the patient.

The information on the screens was nothing compared to the vast amount of knowledge held within his own brain. A full psychological mock-up of every frequent opponent he ever faced was memorized within his brain. With a single flick of his finger across the screen he minimized the file on Pamela Isley and brought up the information on her psychiatrist.

As he listened to the seemingly heartfelt and intimate knowledge Pamela was sharing with Doctor Birch he knew one thing with unshakable certainty... Poison Ivy was lying.


	4. A Lovely Gift

After being escorted back to her cell by her guards, Pamela found herself greeted by a great, grumbling, rumbling growl, the likes of which she wouldn't expect to hear anywhere other than one of Catwoman's Lairs or Joker's circus hideouts. This sound, however, came from no four legged carnivore. The racket rattled through the vent coming from Harley Quinn's cell. At ten till noon, Harleen Quinzel was giving new meaning to the term "sleeping in."

For a moment, Pamela sat on the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose and listening to Harley's marvelous impersonation of a hibernating grizzly bear. After a few minutes she laid down on her own bed, rubbing her temples, contemplating just how it was that this cute, short-statured adorable little blonde could make such ungodly noises. More curious was the fact that they typically only occurred in Arkham. Harley was a very quiet sleeper whenever she and Ivy shared a hideout. She was subtle, cunning, down-right stealthy when the time called for it. There was something about Arkham that made everyone act differently from their usual mannerisms when they were free; with Harley her usual jubilant, perky, excitable attitude was severely diminished into a near lethargic state.

"Harley...?"

Another snore.

"Harl?"

A snort that sounded like one of Selina's cats hocking up something vile.

"HARLEEN!"

"BWUAH!? Wha?! ...Didju say somethin', Red?"

"Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, Harl, but I had to get your attention."

"Mmmh... What is it, Red?" Harley asked with a drowsy yawn.

"Did you do as I asked?"

"Ya mean with the plant thingy? Oh yeah! One of the orderlies owed me so I asked him to send the flowers ta Dr. Birch's apartment just like ya asked!"

"Did you make sure to tell him which florist to order them from? And what plant to send?"

"Sure, Pammy, sure, c'mon gimme a little credit when have I ever let you down?"

Pamela's dark lips twitched with amusement as she thought of how many times Harley had squealed during late night robberies, or gotten to excited during a high speed escape and ended up blocking Ivy's view while squirming around in the car.

"Oh no, Harl, you've never let me down." She replied, rolling her eyes skyward.

The sarcasm must have been audible enough for Harley to recognize because the blonde gave a plaintive whine from within her cell. "I promise I did just as you said, Red! And Billy won't let ya down, he's a good sort!"

"Billy? Good goddess, Harl, on a first name basis with the interns?" Pamela quipped with an amused smirk.

"C'mon, Red... Not all of us can bat our lashes and make boys do what we want."

"You could."

Harley gasped. To Pamela it had been a statement of fact, but to a young woman used to having her boss sneer, snipe, and abuse her mentally a physically such a comment seemed like the kindest compliment on earth. "Ya really think so?"

Once more Pamela rolled her eyes. "Harley, you're a a bubbly, blonde in pigtails who can twist herself into a pretzel; if you were actually **trying** there's no end of men who would be at each other's throats just to see you trying on miniskirts." She drolled this out with a mild sneer at the mere idea of it, rolling her shoulders back as she leaned against the wall, letting her feet dangle off her bed as she slid her slippers off and flexed her toes.

"Mmhh... I miss the soil."

"What Red?"

"Nothing Harl... Nothing."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That evening Hazel came home to find her boyfriend Eric had come over to visit, he had prepared dinner for her as a surprise after she'd called to tell him about her breakthrough with Pamela Isley. Eric worked for the Gotham forensics lab, in his line of work he'd seen it all, and many of the people he helped identify and track down were the people that Hazel would later end up treating in the Arkham facility.

"So you really think this is serious? You think she really stands a chance?"

"I do!" Hazel said excitedly, nodding as she set her fork down between bites of food. "She seems to be genuinely remorseful of her previous actions... So much so that it's almost painful- Eric, the look on her face when I came in yesterday evening. She was an absolute wreck, the poor woman..."

"Wow... Never thought I'd see one of those whack-o's would manage a second chance. Oh, hey! That reminds me, speaking of plants, there was a delivery for you, it's in on the coffee table."

"A delivery? From who?" She asked, getting up and leaving the dining room in order to go in and look at what had been brought to her.

On the coffee table in front of the TV sat a moderately size blue flower pot, with a small flower-shrub sprouting out of it. The flowers were simple, five petaled and ovate in shape, their colors shifting hues of purple, lilac, and near-white.

"Oh my... It's beautiful! But who is it from, Eric?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me." He replied with a grin. "The only card on it was the florists, and the delivery guy said the client wished to remain anonymous. You got any secret admirer's I don't know about, gorgeous?" He teased with a broader smile.

"I don't know..." Hazel replied, leaning down to smell the lovely flowers. "Mmmh, they're wonderful. I wonder who sent this! You know what, I bet it was Margaret! She said she'd find a way to thank me for recommending that child psychologist for her son and daughter."

"Must be." Eric said with an uncertain shrug. "Come on, sweet heart, you can stop to smell the flowers later, dinners gonna get cold!"

"All right, I'm coming- Coming." She smiled as she straightened up, returning to the dining room with him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Over 2400 miles away, on the west coast of the United States, an urban myth stalked the halls and corridor's of the University of Washington's Seattle Campus. This was his third stop that evening. The first had been Seattle city hall, to access marriage certificates and birth records. Next was the NorthWest Hospital of Seattle, trying to track down the right Isley family. That was a dead end. Finally he'd come to the campus to retrieve Pamela Isley's permanent record, with it he hoped he'd have a better chance of tracking down her parents.

A very smart, very dangerous man once observed that where Batman was involved, jurisdiction meant absolutely nothing. When he was involved you could run, you could hide, you could stay underground for years, but in all that time all it would take is one mistake, one tiny error, something you wouldn't even be aware that you had done. A single mistake is all it takes for him to find you, to hunt you down, and make you talk. It didn't matter how long it took. He'd find what he needed, and she wouldn't be able to hide behind the lies once he did.


	5. Patient J

"Good morning, Pamela." Dr. Birch greeted her favorite patient warmly as Pamela was escorted into the room. "Did you sleep well?"

"Marvelously!" Pamela declared with a smile, sitting down in her usual seat and tossing her hair back to let the sun bathe her as the session began. "Airing out my issues has really been helping me feel more relaxed... Even the asylum seems less gloomy than usual."

"That's wonderful, Pamela! Now, before we begin, I have an unrelated question I would like to ask you."

"Oh?" Pamela asked, lifting her eyebrows and looking curiously at the doctor.

"Yes. You see, last night I received an anonymous gift, a flower."

"Mmmh, I've always thought they made the most wonderful gifts... When they're not barbarically mutilated and delivered in a water vase..."

"Well, this little beauty was delivered in a nice little planter, but I'm afraid I don't know what sort of flower it is. I was hoping you could identify it for me, and tell me if there's any sort of special care I need to give it?" Hazel asked, withdrawing a Polaroid snapshot of the flower from within her jacket pocket and handing it to Pamela.

Pamela studied the photograph for a moment, her lips pursed together in quiet contemplation.

"Well, It looks to be a very healthy Brunfelsia. They're a lovely shrubbery flower, commonly called the Yesterday-Today-Tomorrow plant because of the three alternating flower colors. Do you have any pets...?"

Hazel blinked in surprise at the sudden question, then shook her head. "No. No, I simply don't have time to tend to a pet. Not in this line of work."

"That's good news, you see Brunfelsia are quite lovely, but they are also rather poisonous, especially their berries."

"Oh my!"

"Don't worry," Pamela soothed with a smile, "As long as you don't eat them you'll be fine, just make sure you wash your hands well after pruning to tending to it. Getting the spores in your nose can cause a horrendous allergic reaction if you have a weak nasal system or frequent allergies."

"But it's not dangerous? It's such a beautiful little plant, I'd hate to have to get rid of it..."

"Oh my no, as long as it's not ingested Brunfelsia is just a beautiful plant to place on a window sill to spruce up a place. I'm so glad you like it."

Hazel's entire body froze. Slowly she gulped, and levels her eyes with Pamela's, feeling her blood run cold in her veins. "Wh-what did you say?"

"The flower, I'm glad you like it. I went to great deal of hassle to make sure it got to you without getting myself in trouble."

"Y-you sent this to me?"

"Well... Yes..." Pamela replied, suddenly looking sheepish and upset. "I'm sorry, Dr. Birch, I didn't mean to alarm you I just... I wanted to thank you for all the help you've given me."

Slowly Hazel's heart stopped pounding and her adrenaline slowed. She took a deep breath and sighed with relief. "Pamela... You know you aren't supposed to interact with plants in anyway!"

"But I didn't!" Pamela protested with a slight pout. "I obeyed all of the regulations. I had no contact with any plants. I simply asked for a favor by having an intern send the gift to you... I didn't want to have the card addressed for fear you'd react like- well... Like this. Please don't tell the guard Captain! I didn't want to cause any trouble, I just want to find a nice way to thank you."

Hazel sighed again and gave Pam an understanding smile. "All right... Just this once. But you mustn't do this again, you aren't supposed to have contact outside these walls! And no more calling for favors from the personnel, you'll get yourself in trouble and severely limit your chances for reform and release!"

Pamela recoiled in horror at this and nodded earnestly. "I'm very sorry, Doctor, it won't happen again!"

"See that it doesn't." Hazel cautioned, using the stern voice of a mother catching a child with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Yes, Doctor..." Pamela said, bowing in her head apologetically. The rest of their session went on without incident. When it was over, before the guards arrived, Pamela grabbed Hazel in a hug so tight Hazel ended up squeaking that she couldn't breath. Pamela quickly let go, apologizing profusely and then shaking the doctor's hands gratefully in her own before being taken away by her guards.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hazel came home at 8 o'clock that evening. As she set her briefcase down and shut the door she shivered softly. It was unpleasantly cold in the house. Heading toward the thermostat on the wall, Hazel reasoned that her boyfriend must have turned the air down during the heat of the day and forgot to reset it before leaving for his evening shift at the lab.

"Jesus, Eric, what is it with you and putting the thermostat to Siberian Winter?" she asked aloud to the empty house as she checked the thermostat, but it wasn't on. Straightening up Hazel looked into the mirror hanging on the hallway wall and gasped.

Behind psychiatrist, standing by the open dining room window was the creature who only came to Arkham after hours, the man who's natural habitat was a rain slick rooftop and who's favorite pass time was putting the scum of the earth into intensive care. More than half the world believed he was a myth. Some people believed there was more than one, that they were funded by the government as a way to protect America's most polluted and crime-infested city; other's thought he was a psychological ploy conducted by the police to try and give them extra leverage in Gotham. The only people who really knew the truth were the people that worked with this man day in and day out. To the heroes of the League he was a dangerously intelligent, deceptive, cunning, and not-all-together trustworthy ally. To the men and women of law enforcement he was either the biggest problem in Gotham, or the only thing standing between the city and total anarchy. To the resident doctors of Arkham Insane Asylum he was the uncatchable patient, the one man who probably needed to be inside their facility more than any of the criminals he helped put in there.

"What are you doing in my house?" she demanded, trying to sound calm and controlled but only managing to sound just above piss-her-pants terrified.

"Hazel Birch. 5' 8", 127 lbs, age 27. Born in Murfreesboro, North Carolina, middle child out of three, parents still married and living in Murfreesboro. You graduated of the University of Virginia, top of your class. You completed your medical residency right here in Gotham, you know what you wanted and where you wanted to work the moment you chose your career. You're dedicated to your profession, you actually believe in what you're doing, you believe that they can be redeemed."

By the time he was finished with this simple breakdown of her life in a paragraph she was on the verge of tears. Having a complete stranger show up with the history of her life memorized was incredibly unnerving.

"What do you **want**!?"

"To warn you." He growled.

"Warn me about what?!"

"Pamela Isley is using you."

As it had that morning at Pamela's revelation about the plant, Hazel Birch's body stiffened in alarm at the Batman's warning. "What are you talking about."

With a rustle of paper, he threw down a file onto her coffee table next to the plant Isley had sent to her.

"Pamela's mother was sexual therapist and marriage counselor, she was a strong advocate of women's writes and refused to take her husbands name when she got married. Francis Andrews and Michelle Isley never got a divorce, by all accounts they had a steady marriage. Francis was a recovering alcoholic, Michelle refused to marry him unless he quite drinking. He was three years and six months sober when Pamela was born. When Pamela was 17 the family was in a car crash. Michelle Isley died on the scene; her husbands blood-alcohol level was .09; he'd been sober 19 and a half years. Pamela cut all ties with her father after the accident. She moved out of the house, graduated high school a year early and headed for Washington State University's Seattle Campus on a scholarship for the Gifted."

By now there were tears in Hazel's eyes, and a scowl of confusion. "How can we know that's true..? How can you be certain? What if that's the cover up, and what she's told me is true? Or what if she's shifted her own memories? What if she was abused? Or what if her mother's death was so traumatic that she chose to create a completely new memory of her childhood in order to justify the anger she felt towards her father?"

"It's not impossible." He conceded, still standing in the shadowed corner of the room, his cape falling in over his shoulders and hiding his body from view. "But, doctor, we are talking about a woman who has spent every waking hour since the incident with Jason Woodrue manipulating, using, deceiving, and mentally controlling others. Poison Ivy is a master of manipulating other peoples feelings, be it through pheromones or a gilded words. It's what she does, it's how she survives..."

"You haven't seen her! The pain on her face, the hurt in her eyes, the tears on her cheeks when she talks about the people she's killed!!!" Hazel sobbed, balling her hands into fists, clutching at her own chest. Her heart ached from the pain of the discussion, she didn't want to believe any of this, she refused to believe that Ivy didn't have a chance for redemption or reformation.

"Doctor... What do you know about Harleen Quinzel?"

"Wh-What...?" Dr. Birch asked, lifting her head up to look at the vigilante.

"Harleen Quinzel. Criminal Psychiatrist, a brilliant young woman, her mentors thought she would rise to be one of the finest in your field... Her case file is required reading for every new doctor to be hired onto the Arkham staff. Did you learn nothing from reading it...?"

Dr. Birch's face contorted with pain. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be true. Pamela wasn't that twisted. She hated the joker, loathed him for the way he used Quinn; surely she wouldn't do to Hazel the very thing that Patient J had done to Dr. Quinzel years ago? With a heart-wrenching sob, Hazel collapsed onto her sofa.

"I just.... I can't believe she would do this. It seemed so real... The tears, the pain... Her story..."

"You aren't the first to be so convinced by her, you won't be the last. At least now, you' have a full grasp of just who you're dealing with..."

After a few sniffles, and a loud snort into a tissue, Hazel turned to thank the caped crusader for showing her the truth. The words died on her lips as she looked towards her window; she was once again alone in her apartment. The young woman stood up and went to her window, tugging it closed and flipping the lock, peering through the glass out over the suburban outskirts of Gotham's prestigious north side. There was no sign of her cloaked and cowled visitor anywhere out there. Turning back toward the inside of her apartment her eyes fell upon the potted plant Isley had sent her... If what Batman had said was true, then why would Pamela have gone to so much trouble to send her that thank you gift?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

**Author's Note:**  
All right folks, things are about to take a turn towards the more extreme. As the warning goes... Prepare yourselves; here be monsters.


	6. Brunfelsia

Hazel slowly paced back and fourth in front of her desk, considering what she'd learned last night. After coming in to work that morning she'd spent time pouring over the file that the Batman had built up on Pamela Isley. Dr. Birch couldn't accept the idea that there was nothing to Pamela's original story, not because she was stubborn or because she didn't want to believe, but because she knew a simple truth: the most believable lies are the ones based from truth.

To give a performance as magnificent as Ivy's, Pamela had to be drawing from something real. There had to be a real pain, a real hurt, somewhere deep down inside her. There had to be something to motivate the pain and heartache and anger Hazel often heard in Pamela's voice during their sessions; but what was it? What was Pamela Isley's real pain?

It was an overcast day in Gotham City. The chance of rain was at 80% with a merciful 65% humidity, it was the sort of day when the locals of the city knew a storm would be on them at any time, but before the rain hit was the perfect time to enjoy a cool breeze on a comfortable day. Pamela spent the entire first half of her session with Dr. Birch staring out the window with a wistful look in her eyes. Dr. Birch, in turn, spent that time staring at Pamela in quiet contemplation. Finally the psychiatrist broke the silence, deciding to jar Pamela from her day dreaming.

"Pamela what was the Rabbit's name?"

"The what?" the green skinned beauty replied uncertainly.

"...The rabbit?" Hazel pressed, lifting her eyebrows inquisitively. If Pamela couldn't come up with a name for the bunny she had alleged to have it would certainly lend credence to Batman's belief that the whole thing was a lie.

"Capricorn."

"Capricorn? Why Capricorn?"

Pamela smiled and then laughed, covering her face with her hand. "It's silly..."

"Try me." Hazel replied with another gentle smile.

"I liked Apricots when I was young but I couldn't pronounce it right, I called them Capricots. That's what I wanted to name him, but mother and father thought it was a bit odd and that I'd end up wishing I'd named him something else, mother suggested Capricorn."

Hazel sighed softly and closed her eyes. Either Pamela Isley was one of the best liars she'd ever met, or she really was telling the truth about some of these things. The answers were just too simple and yet to ridiculous, the sort of answers you could only get from real life. Hazel decided to take a chance, to try and lure out some evidence either for or against what the Batman had given her.

"Pamela... What was your mother's name?"

"Michelle." Pamela replied promptly.

"And your father?"

"Francis. Doctor, why are you asking me all this."

"Just a simple test of mental faculties, Pam, preparing for the time when it's safe to present you as a candidate for release and monitored house arrest instead of staying in the asylum." Hazel replied smoothly.

"You really think they'll let me out, after all I've done?"

"I think there's a chance, if we can prove you've really reached a turning point. I'd even sponsor you."

"Really?"

"Of course, Pamela." the psychiatrist replied with a smile. "I have faith in you. Tell me, Pam, why were your parents getting a divorce?"

"Because my father couldn't stop gambling. He was putting us in debt... that and mother thought he'd started drinking again. He was a recovering alcoholic." Pamela explained.

Hazel's eyes lit up. There was a grain of truth in that statement, could there be more truth in things Pamela had told her?

"Pamela... How did your father know Hugh Manning? Do you remember?"

Pamela's shoulders stiffened and her jaw tightened. Hazel watched her eyes, watched them bounce back and fourth nervously; were they jumping because she felt like a cornered rat, aware that her lie was about to be exposed, or was it because she was trying to remember something her brain didn't want her to remember?

"I... I can't.. I can't... I don't want to!" Pamela shrieked, clutching at her own skull as if under the pressure of a tremendous headache. "No.. NO! Get away, Leave me alone, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" Pamela screamed, tumbling from her chair to the floor, curling into a fetal position as tears streamed down her cheeks and the air began to smell sharply of lemon, a typical sign of Pamela's displeasure compared to the usual gentle scent of magnolia flowers that she exuded when she was happy.

"Pamela! Pamela it's all right!" Hazel exclaimed, leaping from her chair to kneel beside her patient. "Pamela look at me! **Look at me!**" Hazel shouted framing Pamela's face in her hands as the guards rushed in, drawn into the room by the shouts and screams. "Stay back!" Hazel ordered, not wishing to further upset her patient. Cooing softly she began to stroke Ivy's cheeks. "Shhh... Shhh.. It's all right, Pamela, it's all right. You're safe. You're safe. He's not here. No one is here but us, it's all right."

Slowly, like a child recovering from a tantrum, Pamela began to calm down. It took ten whole minutes before she could even make eye contact with Hazel, and another five before she could stand under her own power. Pamela Isley was escorted back to her cell to rest while Dr. Birch returned to her office to consider what she had just scene. It was too real to be a performance, she told herself... wasn't it?

No one could fake something like that, could they? She paced her office as she considered this, then she made her way to her desk and sat down to think. She lost track of the time, then her thoughts turned to nothingness as she drifted off...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In her dreams she was lost in a botanical garden, wandering the paths in circles, completely misdirected by all the signs. Finally she came upon a redheaded gardener in a beekeepers outfit, obscuring her face from view, this woman told Hazel to take the left path to find what she wanted. Hazel took the left path, and she came to a knew fork in the road. Here she found a gardener with blonde pigtails and a masquerade mask, who told her to take the right path to find what she was looking for. None of it made any sense, then a relentlessly buzzing filled her ears. Bees, a whole swarm of them, came hurtling toward her in a great cloud, chasing her wildly through the gardens. She ran in a blind panic, screaming for help and it came with a shrill shriek as a massive bat descended from the sky, swallowing the whole swam in a single snap of it's fanged jaws.

With a sudden yelp Hazel was jarred from her sleep. Someone was banging on her office door.

"Dr. Birch!? Dr. Birch are you in there!?"

Hazel recognized the frantic voice as that of the afternoon security team's captain, James Marlow. He was a good man, calm and strong, he'd mastered in criminal psychology in college and was an ideal captain of the guard there at Arkham Asylum, knowing just how to deal with the patience to be firm yet encouraging, ensuring that they were generally fairly cooperative with him. In his 7 years at Arkham he was the only security captain never to be injured in the line of duty. The Patients liked him. Even Patient J liked him, because he had a sense of humor and knew how to put up with the clown's odd-ball antics whenever he was locked up. Hazel had never heard Marlow sound like this before, it was not in his nature to panic.

"What is it, Captain?" She asked as she opened the door.

James stared back at her, wide eyed, his hair askew, his chest heaving as he panted for breath; clearly he had run straight to her office. "Ma'am..." He gasped, trying to catch his breath. "She... She has... She has a flower."

Dr. Hazel Birch stared at the security officer, while the blood slowly drained from her face and her heart began to bounce around in her chest like a cornered rabbit. "...Who, Captain?" She stammered, hoping her worst fears would prove to be wrong.

"Isley, Doctor... She has a flower."

An intern, a rookie guard, even one of the newer doctors, might not understand the severity of such a statement but both the psychiatrist and the guard captain knew what this meant. Pamela Isley with a flower was like Patient J with a yo-yo, in her hands a dandelion was a lethal weapon.

"Tell the guards to stay back, Captain... Keep only Pamela's guards close, put all the other cells into lock down, we can't afford to have her freeing anyone else. Order them **not** to engage her, we can't afford to antagonize her." Hazel ordered, quickly snatching her lab coat and pulling it on. She adjusted her glasses and checked her hair in the mirror while Marlow quickly issued orders over his radio. At times like this they had to present a facade of control and authority, they had to seem calm and collected; whenever a patient was the one who was actually in control of the situation was when you had to try your hardest to prove otherwise.

"What are you going to do, Doctor?" following her out of her office and escorting her towards the Maximum Security cell block.

"Talk to her... She's scared right now... I pushed to hard in our last session, I shouldn't have... I don't think she wants to hurt anyone, I think she feels like she needs protection. What she needs it to feel safe, if we can make her feel safe, I think we can get her to surrender without a fight."

As they neared the Max. Sec. Corridor Hazel saw that the emergency lights were flashing above the heavy titanium doors. Hazel swiped her key-card through the scanner and the first set of doors slowly began to roll open. She and the captain stepped through and the first doors rolled closed once more. For a brief moment they stood in a dark 8 x 8 chamber before the second set of doors began to roll open. Just inside the Max. Sec. Corridor Hazel found 16 armed guards, in full riot gear and gas masks. They carried taser guns and stun batons, and she could see in each ones eyes a look of fright. The bravest men in the world would be scared at a moment like this.

"Easy boys." Marlow announced, exuding an air of calm and confidence as he entered the corridor, instantly helping his men relax.

Hazel lifted a hand for Marlow to stay with the other guards as she began to move down the corridor. The other cells had all been put into lock down, with heavy steel reinforced gates dropping down in front of the bulletproof viewing windows for each cell. As the psychiatrist made her way down the corridor Holly Madison and Margaret Oak—the woman she initially believed had sent her the flower—fell in step with her, escorting her towards Ivy's cell at the far end of the hall. These two women were the personal guards for Poison Ivy during the afternoon-evening shift. They were good friends, they even looked alike, both were 6' 1" with powerful, athletic frames and calm stern faces. Both had light brown hair and soft green eyes. They had been in the army reserve together, and when Holly got a job at Arkham she helps arrange to have Emily get a job too once she completed her service. Hazel had gotten to know both women well, and the three of them all knew their patient well.

"All right, Ladies, let's keep calm about this. We all know Pamela doesn't fly off the handle very often. I think she's just scared, I want to talk to her, so I need both of you to act like this is just a standard visit, understood?" Dr. Birch asked aloud, looking from one guard to the other.

"Yes, Ma'am, we'll do our best." Holly replied, licking her dry lips as she walked briskly down the hall. As they neared Ivy's cell Holly called out to her. "Hey Pam? Dr. Birch is here, she'd like to talk to you."

There was no response and the three women continued their approach. As they came into sight of the viewing glass to Isley's cell Hazel looked inside and saw Pamela sitting on the floor. The sight was jarring, and unsettling... Pamela had shed her jumpsuit, leaving her curvaceous green body completely exposed. She sat cross legged as if in meditation, and her head was bowed. Her hands rested in her lap, and in her hands she held a small bulb of a dark maroon hue.

"Pamela?" Hazel called out, trying to garner Pamela's attention using her most soothing and gentle voice.

"Shhhh..." the green skinned beauty hissed quietly. "The babies still sleeping."

Hazel lifted her eyes slowly, she'd never been in contact with Pamela while she was near flowers before now. She was in unfamiliar territory, and she knew she had to tread lightly. "Pam... the guards told me you have a flower, can I see it...?"

Pamela lifted her head and smiled softly, then she turned her head to the right, showing Hazel the left side of her face... and the flower in her hair. The psychiatrist stared like a dear in the headlights at the pretty purple flower with five broad petals, which Poison Ivy proudly displayed. A single blossom, from the Brunfelsia that Dr. Birch had sitting on the coffee table in her apartment.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long to get this up, folks, family drama delayed my free time to work on this little side project. Chapter 7 is in the works right now and I might even be able to get it up by this evening.


	7. Seperated at Birth

"Oh... that's... that's pretty Pam! And how did you get that?" Hazel asked, her heart sinking with the knowledge that she already knew the flowers origin.

Poison Ivy smiled softly as she fixed her eyes on Hazel's, slowly canting her head a little in curiosity. "It's the darnedest thing, Doctor. Some foolish employee, who will remain nameless for my benefit, was tending to what is clearly-" here she paused to toss her hair and cup the lovely Brunfelsia flower "-a very healthy little plant of the Brunfelsia genus. It's a gorgeous flower, don't you think? Anyway, this fool carried the pollen in on their person after tending to the flower one early morning before coming in for work. During my escorted walk up to the meeting room for our therapy session my body naturally attracted the pollen like a magnet. This poor simpleton was just like a bee, carrying pollen from one healthy plant to another for fertilization."

Hazel was shocked. If the rest of the staff found out, if the psychiatric community learned that she had been an unwitting assistant in providing Poison Ivy with her weapon of choice it would be a career ruining revelation. She hadn't done it on purpose, and so they would be unlikely to fire her, it was a simple mistake by a doctor who'd only been working at Arkham for 7 months, plenty of doctors had made far more dangerous mistakes. The mistake was dangerous though, very dangerous, she had provided pollen to a chlorokinetic manipulator. She would be a laughing stock if anyone found out, and yet even though there were two guards who could be witness to the confession, Pamela didn't reveal who her been her unknowing accomplice in crime. As Dr. Birch stared at the green skinned woman Poison Ivy gave her a knowing smile, as if she could sense exactly what the doctor was thinking.

"There are reasons that the staff isn't supposed to have direct, prolonged physical contact with their patients here at Arkham, as you well know, Dr. Birch." Ivy explained, still grinning like as toothily as a fly trap. "But this poor little fool didn't know any better, He... Or She... Was a naïve accomplice in my scheme." Pamela explained, her voice becoming steadily more calm and clinical, like a professor giving the class a lecture.

Hazel closed her eyes for a moment, her hands were trembling and she clasped them together to try and control the spasms. He was right, he was right all along. Pamela had used her, played her, just to bring them closer together so that she would unintentionally provide Pamela with the pollen need to let her stimulate her own nature enzymes in order to grow something. Her hair was a natural flower bed, and Hazel had comfortingly run her fingers through Pamela's hair so many times in their past few sessions. How many times, she couldn't even guess, how much pollen had she unwittingly provided to Poison Ivy in her attempts to comfort a sick, emotionally unbalanced woman she thought she could help? It made Hazel's stomach churn to realize how masterfully Ivy had played her.

"You know, in a way, it's almost... Sexual." Poison Ivy drawled in a slow, husky voice.

Hazel's head snapped up and her eyebrows jumped as she stared at her patient in alarmed confusion. "Wh-what do you mean, Pamela?"

"Well, think about it, Doctor... This person... He or she brought me this pollen, gave it to me to nurture and tend to until it could grow into this beautiful flower. This poor fool was like my own personal sperm donor." Ivy replied, her husky drawl rolling into a rich, amused laugh.

Hazel tightened her jaw, pleased the guards were standing behind her and couldn't see her blushing with embarrassment as she and Ivy talked. Poison Ivy now slowly stood up, still cradling a seed bulb in her hands, as arced her back in a yoga stretched, extending her arms up over her head while still holding the bulb.

"Mmmh, you have no idea how uncomfortable those jumpsuits are, Hazel. So starchy, and itchy, and they don't breath well at all." Ivy commented, keeping the seed bulb in her left hand as she ran her left hand across her cheek, down her neck, and slowly trailed it over her breast and across her abdomen. "This feels _sooooo_ much better."

"Pamela..." Hazel began anew, trying her best to ignore the womans provocative display of dexterity as the green skinned villainess stretched first her right leg, and then her left, then swayed her hips back and fourth as if to work the kinks out of her muscles. "We really can't let you keep those plants you know... It will make the employees uncomfortable."

Poison Ivy gasped, her eyebrows jumping and her eyes widening. "Take my babies?!" She exclaimed in shock and horror, suddenly drawing the seed-bulb into her arms like a child, holding it to her buxom chest and rocking it gently. "You can't, without me they won't survive in this loathsome place!"

In an instant Hazel realized her mistake, she wasn't used to dealing with Ivy when she was in connection with her plants. This wasn't Pamela Isley, the asylum patient, this was someone entirely different. This was Poison Ivy, a veritable living goddess, a woman who could control plants with a mere thought, a woman who could crush a man to death in the roots of an oak tree by winking. Suggesting that she would have to be separated from the plants she now possessed was a very dangerous, very bad idea.

"No, no, no!" Hazel reassured quickly, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice as she spoke. "No one wants to take your babies away from you, Pamela.. We just want to make sure they're safe and healthy. After all, there's no sunlight in your cell, and they won't feed very well from the water from your sink..."

"Oh, they'll be fine with me... I can give them everything they need, can't I precious?" Ivy cooed, looking down at the seed in her arms with a doting smile. Hazel couldn't be sure, but she thought it looked like the seed had gotten a little bigger since she arrived.

"But, Pam, don't you think they'd be happier in the gardens out in the asylum's courtyard?"

Poison Ivy ignored the question, strolling slowly closer toward the thick bullet proof glass viewing door that kept her contained within her cell. "Dr. Birch, did you know that there are 40 species of Brunfelsia that mankind is aware of...? Not to mention another 12 that **I** personally have discovered since gaining my abilities."

"That's very impressive, Pamela..." Hazel replied, still hoping she might be able to talk the villainess down.

"It is, isn't it?" Poison Ivy declared, preening and smiling proudly. "Oh, but you've not heard the best part yet! You see, the genus Brunfelsia is from a family called Solanaceae. Once I had the pollen for Brunfelsia, all it took was a little careful coaxing with the plants inner nature to return it to it's family basis. Then all I did was lead it down another line of it's family path to create a totally different genus; thus giving birth to this beautiful little treasure."

At this, Ivy lifted up the plant bulb she'd been cradling, holding it like a proud mother. "This one is from the genus Atropa; Atropa Belladonna to be specific. Most people only know it by it's common title... Deadly Nightshade. Like Brunfelsia, Atropa contains Alkaloids. Belladonna's specific type is Atropine. It's extremely toxic, it causes muscle spasms, nausea, paralysis... And, of course, it's often fatal." Ivy explained, while gently caressing the large bulb in her left palm with the fingertips of her right hand.

"Well, Pamela, I must confess I'm very impressed with your ingenuity. This further proves that you are quite capable of rational thought, and still have strong cognitive faculties. Now, if we can just take this lovely baby of yours and put it in the hospital gardens where it will be happy, I'm sure we can all go about the rest of our evening quite enjoyably. Would that be all right with you?" Hazel asked, looking at Poison Ivy with her best impersonation of innocent curiosity.

Ivy seemed to genuinely consider this option for a few moments, but then she shook her head in refusal. "No... No, I don't think I like that. I need to stay close to them, and they need to stay very close to me in order to continue flourishing in this inhospitable environment."

"Pam... I love how dedicated you are to the protection of these beautiful plants, but you know the rules. You're not supposed to be in close proximity to any vegetation. I'm worried about your plants, Pam. If you don't give them to me, then we'll have to initiate the emergency protocols and activate the pesticide misters inside your cell, and then the poor things will be killed. Neither of us want that, Pamela, we both want those pretty little flowers to survive; if you want them to live you have to give them up, all right?" Hazel persisted, feeling less and less like a Psychiatrist and more and more like a hostage negotiator.

Ivy's face fell at the news, and she looked worriedly down at the bulb in her hands. It was definitely larger now, Hazel was sure of it, it was almost as big as a golf ball. "No, no, no. It's okay! Shhh, it's okay, they won't hurt you... I'll kill them before they hurt you, precious." She hissed, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at Hazel.

Behind the Doctor the guards, Holly and Margaret, stepped up toward the screen.

"Ivy, come on now, none of us want to fight." Emily began.

"That's right. And you've been on such good behavior lately, we've not even needed the restraints when taking you through the halls the past two days. You don't want to ruin all that now!" Margaret encouraged with a smile.

Once more Ivy paused and seemed to consider the advice of the two guards. "Well, I admit, you ladies have never done wrong by me before..."

"That's right. We're you're friends Pam, all of us, Me and Holly, and Margaret, we just want to help you get through this. Look, I know it's been a rough few days. I know that not everything you've told me has been the truth, but I know that some of it has been... If you just give us the flowers, I promise you will take them where ever you tell us they'll be safest. We'll take them to Robinson park, of the Gotham Botanical Gardens, or right out here into the garden. Where ever they'll thrive, I promise we'll take them there." Hazel encouraged, smiling hopefully at Ivy.

Poison Ivy looked down at the bulb in her hands, then she lifted her left hand up and stretched out her index finger in front of the Brunfelsia flower. Like a snake coiling around a branch the stem of the flower uncoiled itself from Ivy's hair then slithered out to wrap around her finger. Reluctantly the green woman stood up and approached the glass door once more. Sadly, Poison Ivy set the plant bulb and the flower onto the sliding tray slot that food was passed through at meal times. Once Ivy had stepped back away from the glass Holly opened the slot door and reached in, gently taking the bulb and the flower out of the tray and lifting them up with the gentility of a girl cradling a new born kitten.

Hazel breathed a soft sigh of relief, then smiled at Pamela. "I'm very, very proud of you Pamela. You made the right choice... Thank you."

Poison Ivy nodded gently at Hazel, and then her dark grin lips curled into a naughty grin. "Oh... Don't thank me yet, Hazel. After all, you just separated growing children from their mother!"


	8. Mommy is Here

It was another moment of realization. The mistake had been made... They had taken the plants away from Poison Ivy and brought them into the corridor, but she had already made contact with them, she had already formed an empathic bond. They now truly were her children and Dr. Birch felt she could almost sense their anger as they were taken away from the chlorokinetic villainess.

"Holly, drop the- _**HURK!**_" Hazel's exclamation was cut short by a series of thick, rasping coughs. The bulb that Ivy had surrounded had exploded like an over-filled water balloon. A sticky dark fluid splashed over Hazel, Holly, and Margaret. Both guards and the doctor recoiled in disgust while the guards at the far end of the hall came rushing forward.

"STOP!"

The voice shouted so clear and loud that for a moment, everyone actually did stop. Even the goop-soaked women stood stock still, like dear in the headlights. They all turned toward the voice, and every guard looked upon a wide eyed and alarmed Pamela Isley.

"Listen to me... This is very important, these next five minutes are crucial. I mad a mistake, I admit that now; yes Hazel, I was scared, you were right. After what we discussed this morning I was scared, and I made use of a plan I shouldn't have used, and didn't need to use. Right now I'm very sorry I did that; and late I'm sure I'll be sorry I'm doing what I am now... But I don't want to see any of you die, if not for your own sake than for mine... I don't want any more deaths on my conscience." Pamela explained, slowly turning her vibrant green eyes on Marlow. "Those gas masks won't do a damn thing for any of you if you touch any of these three. By now the juice has seeped into gaps in their clothing, gotten onto their skin and into their pores. In a few minutes they're all going to be in a very bad state, unless you let me help them... But I need you to trust me. And I need you to let me out of my cell."

Marlow stared at her for a moment, and then he laughed. "You must think I'm out of my mind, Pam."

"Dammit, James, I don't care if you think you're the god damned king of england! Hazel's helped me too much and we've worked to hard for me to blow it all now. I want a chance at redemption, I want to get the fuck OUT of this hell hole once and for all and the only way I can do that is if I make up for this stupid stunt I just pulled now let me the hell out of this goddess forsaken room!!!" Pamela shrieked, her nostrils flaring as she slammed her fists against the glass between her and the Arkham employees.

"I... I don't feel good." Hazel rasped, taking a single shuttering step to the side and leaning against Holly for support. Both the females guards had the benefit of wearing their masks, ensuring that at least the nightshade's berry juice didn't splash into their mouthes. Dr. Birch wasn't so lucky. She had yelped with alarm when the bulb exploded, inadvertently catching a large gush of strong, bitter fluid upon her tongue. Now the young psychiatrist was blinking, bleary eyed and pale, with her fingers twitching and convulsing involuntarily.

"...She's swallowed it. Dammit, Captain, make a decision, either let me out or watch her die, after a dose like that there's no way you're getting her to a hospital in time!"

In spite of the precarious situation, with three people exposed to raw nightshade, the assembled guards all looked at Pamela incredulously.

"Stop staring you idiots! I made a mistake all right!? I was scared, don't look at me with those incompetent eyes and tell me you all aren't scared out of your WITS right now! I did something stupid and I want to make up for it; trusting me probably seems like the stupidest idea in the world to you at the moment but tell me who else in this pit can provide an antidote to a plant toxin this deadly?!"

Captain Marlow and the other guards exchanged uncertain looks, then Hazel let out a groan and slumped in Holly's arms.

"Dr. Birch!" Margaret exclaimed, the woman took a single step forward, tripped over her own feet and fell to the ground. Though the poison reacted slower through skin contamination, Poison Ivy's enhanced version of it was already wreaking havoc with Margaret's system. Holly was the only one still standing, desperately holding Dr. Birch up and looking rather weak in the knees herself she turned her eyes on Captain Marlow.

"Captain... you've gotta let her out of there. If you don't..." Holly shook her head, not wishing to think about it. "For god's sake, James I'm getting married in three months... Margaret has two kids at home, don't just stand here and watch us die!"

Marlow growled, wrestling with the decision for only a scant few minutes more before he jerked his head towards Pamela's cell. "Richards get her out here, she's right, we need her god damn help."

As one of the guards headed for the door Hazel tried to shake her head. _No... No.. It could be a trick! Don't!_ She thought frantically, but her mouth wouldn't work anymore. She couldn't get her body to respond at all, and her every nerve was searing with pain. She'd never felt anything like this. The panic of feeling everything internal while your external body refused to respond to your commands. She heard the cell door click open, she heard Marlow tell his men to stay at the ready... then it all went black.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Light. Light is a terrible, foul, loathsome wretched thing... At least, it is when you first wake up from a long sleep. At the moment Hazel hated light... That was odd. There was no light now. In fact, the room was quite dark. Where was she? She could hear beeping... steady beeping.. a heart monitor? She looked around, and the beeping suddenly increased as her eyes fell upon the black mass. It lifted a gloved finger in front of it's lips for her to keep quiet.

"What are you doing here?! Where is here?!" Hazel hissed angrily.

The white lenses stared impassively back at her, then he lifted a clipboard and tapped his finger next to a logo at the top of the sheet. The symbol was that of Essen Memorial Hospital.

"Wha? Ivy! She-"

"I know."

"What happened?"

"She saved you."

Hazel blinked in confusion, staring up at the Batman. "She what...?"

"She saved your life. Margaret Oak's and Holly Madison's as well." He explained. Holly opened her mouth to respond but he continued before she could. "It would seem you were right in some ways... Some part of Isley wants to reform. I'm not convinced that she actually _can_ reform, and you'd be a fool to trust her anymore, especially after this... But don't give up on her. Whatever you're doing, it's proving that somewhere beneath the Green, Pamela Isley still holds the compassion and kindness she had before the experiment that birthed Poison Ivy."

This time he didn't waited for her to turn away before making his disappearance, he simply turned and headed for the window.

"Batman, wait!" Hazel called out. He paused, turned to glance at her from over his shoulder. "How... How do I keep going after this? I could have died."

"But you didn't... Because she recognized her mistake. Before you came to Arkham, Doctor, Poison Ivy never had never had a crisis of conscience. They let her out of he cell, put her into direct contact with plant life; she could have escaped at any time, but she didn't. She saved all three of the very people she'd put in danger in the first place; she showed compassion for a human life other than Harleen Quinzel. Whatever you're doing, Doctor... It's working."

As he left, Hazel was only left with even more questions; specifically, what on earth **was** she doing that had worked? All she had done with Pamela this past week was talking about a life which, for the most part, Pamela seemed to have completely made-up. Once more she was left to wonder, what exactly was real and what wasn't? Once more she was left wondering if the Batman was right... Now it was he who believed there was a chance to redeem Pamela Isley, and Hazel Birch who wondered if Pamela Isley was even still there beneath the green of Poison Ivy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Inside her cell, Poison Ivy sat upon her bed with her lips pursed and her head hung low. No longer was she allowed to wear a simple inmate's jumpsuit. They'd gone the whole nine yards of 'crazy person' and locked her inside a strait jacket.

"That's gratitude for ya, huh, Red? I mean here ya are, ya save the Doc's life and two guards too, and all they do in response is lock ya up even tighter! They could've at least let you keep the flower, huh?" Harley said from her cell, trying her best to cheer up her friend.

"No, Harl... I don't blame them. If I were in their position I'd lock me up tighter too. It was stupid mistake."

"But ya said you were scared... We all get scared sometimes, Red... You an' your flowers, there like me an' my teddy!... I miss Teddy."

"I'm sure you'll get him back as soon as they let you out."

"Ya think so!?"

"Of course... you'll get out of here sooner than I will.. as soon as they need the space, or as soon as you've calmed down enough that they think they can keep you contained on a daily metric ton of Prozac."

"Aw c'mon, Red... Dr. Birch still likes ya! Ya just made a mistake. That Dr. Birch, she's a good sort. She reminds me of me when I was workin' here!"

At this Pamela smirked faintly, her eyes glittering in her dimly lit cell. "Yes... She is like you when you were here, isn't she Harley?"

"Yeppers!" Harley replied, nodding her head eagerly in agreement even though Pam couldn't see it. From inside her cell, Ivy laughed, that low, husky, sensual laugh that seemed to both excite and terrify anyone who heard it. "What's so funny?"

"Shh... Quiet, Harl. The babies are sleeping..."

"Babies? What babies, Pammy? What're ya talkin' about?"

"I said quiet!" Ivy snapped viciously, causing Harley to give a little meep of submissive fright.

"...Sorry, Ivy."

"It's okay Baby... It's okay, go to sleep. Mommy's here."

Harley shivered softly and slid under the covers of her bed... Whoever Poison Ivy was talking to, she could tell it wasn't her.


	9. Belladonna Hayes

**Author's Note: **  
A warm thanks to Dr. Facer for being kind enough to review my every chapter thus far and show me there are some people that really are reading each one and putting some serious thought into them. Thanks Facer, it's readers like you who get me to stop and start putting a little more effort into what I write.

Further thanks goes to Anarchy from Eidos's Batman: Arkham Asylum board, for being a constant pest in a friendly way that shows me just how much some folks are enjoying this story. Thank you dear, for giving me the inspiration for how to proceed onward, I hope you find it worth the wait!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hazel was in the hospital for a full week. During that time Ivy was kept in her cell, checked up on by an intern Hazel signed off on, but other wise left mostly to herself to think about what had happened. On her first day back, Hazel opted to simply come visit Isley at her cell rather than have a one on one therapy session. Holly and Margaret had come back a few days earlier than Hazel, their cases not quite as severe as Hazel's had been. Both women were thrilled to see the doctor back on her feet, but not one gave her a welcome quite like Pamela's. The moment Pam saw Hazel come into view she lept from her bed and came to the glass of her cell, pressing her face up to it to see Hazel coming.

"Dr. Birch, you're all right!! Thank the earth... Hazel, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry for being that stupid, I just... I got scared. I thought you were losing faith in me, I thought I wouldn't get out of here.. you're the only one who ever thought I could do it. The only one who ever believed that there was a chance for me to reform, and when I thought you were losing faith in my I just... I felt like the walls were closing in."

"Hush, Pamela, hush; calm down. It's all right, I'm fine." Dr. birch soothed kindly, smiling brightly at hear Pamela's voice being kind and gentle again as it had been in their therapy sessions.

"You will forgive me... won't you?" Ivy asked.

"Of course I will, Pamela."

"Thank the goddess... And you will still help me prove I'm capable of rehabilitation?"

"I never reconsidered it, Pam. You just had a breakdown. It's natural under such stressful conditions. We'll keep working until you're able to handle them calmly."

"Oh good... One last thing, Doctor?"

"Sure, Pamela, what is it?"

"...Could you have someone get this damned jacket off me?"

Hazel gave a merry little laugh and nodded happily. "Sure, Pamela. I think I can have that arranged."

Ivy smiled gratefully and bowed her head toward her psychiatrist. "Thank you, Dr. Birch."

"My pleasure. I'll go see about getting that jacket off as soon as possible." She waved at her patient and then began to make her way back down the hallway.

Pamela moved back to her bed and sat down, smiling contentedly.

"Well, she certainly was accommodatin'!" Harley piped up chipperly.

Pamela gave a little laugh and nodded gently to herself. "She was, wasn't she Harl?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hazel had immediately sought out the morning guard Captain, Terry Mortivici, and requested Pamela be removed from straight jacket confinement. After a little bawking and protesting the guard captain yielded to the doctor's persistence. Satisfied that her patient would be comfortable again, Hazel returned to her office and took a seat behind her desk. Once she was seated she retrieved a form she'd called for while she was on her sick leave; a psychological analysis file on Poison Ivy. Hazel cracked the file open and began reading, soon losing herself in page after page of assumption, suggestion and theory made by numerous psychiatrists over the years. As she looked over the notes and records she kept track of the name, most of these people had been killed at some point.. Many of them by Isley herself. Near the end of the file, Hazel found something that particularly grabbed her interest.

_I have discovered something interesting regarding Isley, something I had not realized and had not come to appreciate before now. Isley has a religious conviction I had never before truly comprehended. She frequently refers to the mother goddess of neo-paganism as her divinity of choice, and has often seemed to view herself as a leaving incarnation of said being, but there is an underlying factor here I had not previously considered; that is to say that her belief is distinctly human. _

_I have seen to much in my time in Gotham to doubt the natures of magic and the supernatural. There is no reason, however, to assume magic and science cannot co-exist. With this in mind I have begun to ask Isley to explain herself, both from a scientific point of view as a botanist, but also from the earthly principles of her spiritual conviction. _

_I find myself fascinated by this aspect of Isley's personality. If she truly were becoming less and less human, she would not be so adamant about mother nature, and the spirit and 'lives' of plants. Yes, they are living entities, but they are not sentient in the way I or another person would be considered sentient; at least, not in a way science has yet come to understand. This aspect intrigues me. Could it be that Isley is even more than we have yet come to understand? There are numerous beings in the world now which seem to embody or represent a spiritual or mystical aspect of the nature of our existence. _

_The strange entity known as the Spectre is said to be a spirit of vengeance, endowed and empowered by god himself. The heroine Wonder Woman alleges that her own powers and capabilities were bestowed upon her by the gods and goddesses of ancient Greece. A stage performer named Zatanna, a frequent performing artist at the Gotham Performance Hall, is one of the few stage magicians I know of who performs true magic right there on the stage. As I consider these facts I find myself wondering, could Isley be becoming such a being? Certainly there was a time when she was just a normal human... But could it be that she is... Is... What? What is it she is becoming? I cannot say for sure. I dare to think that perhaps Pamela Isley is... evolving. Not on the slow scale that normal beings do, but an accelerated rate. She alleges to not just be able to control planets, but speak with them, commune with them. Feel what they feel, think what they think. She calls this 'The Green', she tells me it is a spiritual essence of mother nature herself. _

_Whether this is true, or whether it is just another aspect of Isley's psychosis I am not yes certain, but in either case it adds a new dimension to her character. Isley clearly believes this to be fact, regardless of whether it is or not, and this firm and unyielding conviction indicates that Isley is not just a psychotic. She is a religious zealot; this would help further explain her dedication, and why she cannot be reasoned with on a basic level. Like a outraged fundamentalist, or a narrow-minded southern-baptist; trying to reason with her is not just a challenge due to her psychotic mind, but it is an abrupt confrontation with her spiritual beliefs. This realization has added a whole new layer of difficulties to my therapy sessions with her, but by finally recognizing this difficulty consciously I hope to be able to finally meet Isley on even ground. If I can embrace her beliefs, perhaps she will be more accommodating to talking with me about her mental issues and challenges. _

_Dr. Belladonna Hayes_

_6 year Resident, Arkham Asylum  
09.18.06_

Dr. Birch reread this journal entry numerous times. Dr. Hayes had retired less than a month after making this journal entry. On September 22nd Jonathan Crane escaped Arkham, intent to be free and ready to attack as Halloween drew near. He'd befriended a guard, and eventually turned on him, breaking free and proving his mastery of fear by putting the entire Asylum into a panic without even needing his costume or his gases and toxins. He'd preyed purely upon the psychological fears of inmate and employee alike. Dr. Hayes had the raw strength of mind not to give in to his psychological attacks, and she even tried to reason with him over the PA system as he filtered his way through the security systems level by level. Hazel didn't know the whole story, but Hayes was one of the finest doctors the institution had ever had. Whatever she said to Crane, it was enough to grab his interest so keenly that he turned around, he made his way to Hayes office and confronted her.

No one knew what happened in the office. There had been no apparent physical confrontation. Hayes was completely unharmed when guards finally managed to get in. Crane had taken her key card and her car keys and then fled. Dr. Hayes was never the same. She was quiet, withdrawn and jumpy. Somehow the Scarecrow had found a chink in her psychological armor, he'd picked away at it while they stared each other down inside her office, and he'd eventually broken through. Whatever he found inside, it was enough to completely alter her behavioral patterns, her actions, everything. She retired two weeks after the incident and had been seeking therapy for herself ever since. Hazel Birch was one of 6 different doctors the Asylum ended up hiring to replace this one doctor they had lost.

"If it's good enough for Belladonna Hayes, it's good enough for me. Maybe I've finally found a way to really connect with you, Pamela..." Dr. Birch mused out loud, standing up and moving to her window, looking out over the asylum gardens. "Maybe we'll finally make some real progress... "

Hazel paused now, finally realizing she was talking out loud to the empty office. "Oh boy; easy, Hazel, you went through an ordeal... Try and keep it all in perspective." She reminded herself as she returned to her desk and took small sip from her water. Every liquid to enter her mouth reminded her of the nightshade juice, even it's bitter taste was still a vivid memory fresh at the forefront of her mind.

"I'm never going to be able to enjoy a glass of fruit punch again." she said, laughing softly, though it was a forced laugh. To her chagrin the statement actually seemed true. It had been a horrifying ordeal, feeling her tongue go limp in her mouth, feeling that bitter juice trickle down her throat while her lungs burned and her body ceased to respond. The mere thought of it made her cringe, and she had a fair share of bad dreams about it while she'd recovered in the hospital.

Shaken and perturbed by the wandering of her own mind, Hazel turned her attention to her computer. If she was going to take the observations of Dr. Hayes to heart she needed to do a little research on mythology and mysticism. She had to disagree with one observation made by Belladonna Hayes, she doubted that Isley followed any specific neo-pagan school of thought, she suspected it far more likely that Isley followed much older traditions of paganism. Typing the word _Paganism_ into Google came back with 3,450,000 results... She needed to narrow her field of research. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she closed the web browser then brought up her login commands for the Arkham database. She knew exactly who to go to for the answers she needed. She had to speak with Dr. Belladonna Hayes.


	10. The Mother Goddess

At five O'clock she was inside, accompanied by Dr. Hazel Birch, a young woman who had contacted her and insisted on meeting with her face to face. Birch was quite persistent, and was already determined to come to Cherrywood, Wisconsin and meet her. When Birch told her what it was about, she gave in, she agreed to meet Birch at the airport and let her stay over for a night so they could discuss it all in detail. Her only demand was that Birch catch an afternoon flight so that she wouldn't have to get up to early, or stay out to late in order to pick the young woman up. She didn't like to be caught out of the house during the dark, be it early morning or late night. The dark wasn't a safe place for her anymore, it never would be, never could be.

She escorted the younger doctor into her house, then turned around and locked the door. She unlocked it immediately afterward, checked the lock, then locked the door again. Next she flipped the latch-lock, then she connected the chain lock, and finally she fastened the dead bolt. Paranoia was putting it mildly.

Hazel had to admit, other than her obvious fear of crime, Belladonna Hayes seemed to be a relatively stable and intelligent individual; after retiring from Arkham she'd moved to Wisconsin and opened a private psychiatry practice where she treated anyone who needed it. She frequently dealt with Police who had encountered a traumatic experience in the line of duty, and children who had suffered loss through crime. In many ways, Hayes still worked in the world of crime, but she no longer seemed comfortable interacting with the actual criminals. It made Hazel wonder just what on earth Crane had said or done that night that made the well-respected doctor—a verifiable legend in the field of criminal psychiatry—lose her nerve.

Once Dr. Hayes felt secure she beckoned for Hazel to follow her, then she led the younger psychiatrist through her house and into her kitchen where she began to brew a pot of tea. As Hazel followed her hostess she began to look around the house and look over the woman herself, examining things and trying to learn what she could about Dr. Hayes through simple observation.

Dr. Hayes herself was in her mid-forties and as her name implied she was of clear Italian descent. Belladonna meant beautiful, and Dr. Hayes clearly had been at one point, with her curly black hair and her rich olive skin tone, but her experiences in Arkham aged her prematurely. The 42 year old psychiatrist looked like she was well into her 50s. Her pale green eyes were ringed by dark circles that made her look as if she had gone too long without sleep and her hair, though held back in sensible bun, was frizzy and frayed. Fortunately her aged features only served to further enhance a demeanor of motherly reassurance, the perfect sort of persona for a successful mental health doctor to exude while on the job; but Belladonna's seemed to be natural rather than an acquired trait.

In contrast to her weathered appearance, Belladonna Hayes's house was immaculately clean and well furnished. Most people collect more and more furniture, trinkets and bric-a-brac as they get older but Hayes didn't seem to fit that pattern, there was no room with more furniture than was needed, no shelf overcrowded with items. The doctor's neurotic obsession seemed to extend beyond re-locking her doors, a house this meticulously well kept was likely monitored. Hazel easily imagined Doctor Hayes checking every room in the house before leaving in the morning and then coming home to check the house again, making sure everything was exactly where it had been when she left it.

"You have a very beautiful home." Hazel said, smiling politely as Belladonna gestured to a seat at the kitchen table.

"Thank you." The older woman replied, with the faintest hint of an Italian accent. She had a slow deliberate pattern of speech that was innately soothing and Hazel found herself quite as ease as she settled into her chair.

"So... you said you wanted to speak to me about one of my former patients, Miss Isley, and much to my irritation you have been very persistent. After three days of constant calling and pleading for me to agree to see you, I certainly hope I can provide enough information to make your flight worth it. So, Hazel, just what is it you needed to know so badly that it could not be discussed over the phone?"

Hazel sighed softly, pausing to consider how to begin before she replied. "Well, as you may have heard, when you left... Well, the void it created was hard to fill. Six new doctors were hired to make up for your loss."

"I'm flattered that the institution thought so highly of me, but I fail to see why this means you needed to fly all the way to Wisconsin."

Once more Hazel stalled. She sighed, breathed through her nose, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. As she sat there a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She lifted her head to look up at Dr. Hayes in surprise as the older woman smiled kindly down at her.

"Doctor Birch, relax." Belladonna smiled and moved around to sit down across from the other doctor. "Just tell me why you're here, believe me, I've heard far worse than anything you can tell me."

"I'm trying to rehabilitate her I read your final journal entry about her and I want to try and put your theory into practice so I need to learn all I can about it and wanted to hear it all directly from the source so I don't screw up." Hazel gushed in one huge, blathering run-on.

Dr. Hayes blinked slowly, trying to follow the quickly blurted words. Slowly she tucked her bottom lip into her teeth in thought, her eyes shifting up and to the left as she considered what had just been said. After nearly two whole minutes of this Hazel shifted uncomfortably in her chair, she was about to say something when Dr. Hayes finally spoke.

"Have you been seeing a psychiatrist of your own, Doctor Birch?"

"What?"

"A psychiatrist, have you seen one?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you're talking about reforming a world renown super villainess, one of the most dangerous and powerful foes of the Batman, one of the most lethal killers in all of Gotham City, a person who can enslave a man's mind and subvert his free will so thoroughly that he will blindly obey her every command. You're not just talking about some run of the mill psychopath, or a typical criminal, you're talking about someone who has power over plants, a woman who can _create_ new species of plant life for the soul purpose of destroying living flesh. Have you _read_ her files? Have you _seen_ the photos of her crime scenes and her victims?"

"But- But your revelation about her- You seemed so certain that she could be reformed!" Hazel stammered, surprised by how vehemently Dr. Hayes opposed her idea.

"Yes, well, that was before."

"Before what?"

"Never mind." Belladonna replied dismissively, waving her hand as if to ward away the topic of discussion. "If you really want to know more about my theory, so be it, you came all this way I won't turn you down now. But, remember this: Every rose has it's thorns, Doctor."

* * *

Thousands of miles away, Pamela Isley sat calmly in her cell. Dr. Birch was out of town for the weekend, and though Pamela told her caring psychiatrist she would miss her she assured the diligent doctor that she would be all right for a few days on her own. "I'm a big girl, Doctor, I'll manage..." She'd promised.

She was keeping her promise, too. As the day wore on she spent most of her time sleeping. During the summer months in Gotham City, even in a generally cold, air-conditioned, and drafty place like Arkham Asylum, one still ended up feeling rather lazy during the afternoon. She'd slept most of the day away, only rising to eat lunch when it was served and skipping dinner in favor of milk and two cookies. Ever since her rescue of them Margaret and Holly had been kinder towards her. Nothing that broke protocol, these two were too smart and too dedicated for that, but they were more social with their prisoner, wishing her a good evening when they came on duty and even asking her how her day had been. Tonight when she'd said she wasn't hungry it was Holly who offered to at least bring her the cookies.

"Think of it as a thank you." Holly had said with a smile.

"Well, I suppose... But I'm going to end up having to do extra exercise tomorrow because of you." Pamela had replied with a playful smile.

Holly laughed. "Well, I think your taste buds will thank you for indulging them." She said with a wink, then she and Margaret made their way back to the guards station, leaving Pamela to enjoy her treat.

"Your sure did make yourself some gal-pals when ya saved them." Harley mused from her cell. "So... What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Pamela asked innocently, dunking one of the cookies into the plastic cup of milk.

"Y'know, for gettin' outta here! Why else would ya be getting all buddy buddy with Birch and the guards?"

"You've got it all wrong, Harley; I'm on the level this time. I want out, for good. I'm getting out of this game, Harley, I'm tired of playing it."

"Wha?! You gotta be pullin' my leg, Pammy! Out of the game?! But it's so much fun!"

Ivy laughed. She couldn't help it, it rolled over her tongue and off her lips like a babbling brook in spring time. The sort of luxurious, decadent sound one would find more befitting of royalty at a dinner party than a patient in an asylum.

"It is fun... Isn't it, Harl?"

"Golly-gee, yeah, Red! Come on, think of all the fun we've had together, and you're just going to give all that up?"

"Oh, Harley... you know me better than that. When have I **ever** given up? No, no, my lovely... I play for keeps. Heh heh heh. Yes... yes I do..."

* * *

  
As the kettle began to whistle shrilly Belladonna excused herself to prepare the tea, leaving Hazel to consider what she had said. When the older woman returned to the table all trace of her foreboding mood had disappeared and she was once more a kind, smiling woman.

"I must say, I am flattered you came all this way to here my theory. I will tell you all I can of it, though I doubt you will actually find it helpful. As you know doubt gleaned from the entry, my basic hypothesis is that Pamela Isley is something akin to a Spanish Inquisitor. A Zealot, someone so deeply entrenched in her beliefs that they are absolutely unshakable. When someone speaks out against her beliefs it drives her into a homicidal frenzy. For Isley, seeing a plant killed by man would be akin to one of the Inquisition hearing a peasant speak blasphemy to the Lord. It's so traumatic, so upsetting and unsettling, that she simply loses all control of herself. She responds in the only way she can see to, she silences the opposition, no matter how violent she has to be to do so."

Hazel nodded in understanding of the premise so far, gentle stirring some sugar into her tea. "And what exactly are her beliefs, do you think, Doctor? You mentioned neo-Paganism-"

"Yes, but I've reconsidered that since I first wrote the theory-- after all it was just a theory. The primary tenants of neo-paganism, especially the Wiccan traditions, are fairly similar to most religions. Bring no harm to others lest harm be brought to you, be at one with the world the divine gave you, so on and so forth. Obviously, Isley doesn't care at all about the principle of live and let live and acceptance of people despite their faults. I honestly doubt Ivy applies herself to any specific religious belief. She does show some similar tenants to classical druidism as it was practiced during the ancient times of the Celts." Belladonna explained, pausing now and then to sip from her tea, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head back in thought. As she spoke her eyes seemed to go out of focus and her voice lightened to the point that it seemed like she was talking to herself more than to Hazel. Somewhere, under the trauma of her experiences with Jonathan Crane, Belladonna Hayes was still a skilled criminal psychiatrist, and she clearly still loved what she did.

"Unfortunately we know very little about classical druid teachings. We do know they were—in many ways—similar to the Christian monks; they were scholars, teachers, priests and judges all at once. In this respect, Poison Ivy is similar to them. She judges humans based upon how they treat the world around them, someone who fails to take care of her mother earth is quick to earn Ivy's contempt and animosity. Of course, this similarity is shared between numerous cultures and traditions within the ancient pagan tribes and societies. Honestly, if I were to have a chance to interview her now... I think I'd just ask her. Let her tell me about her beliefs; Isley is an inherently vain person, she loves to hear herself talk."

Hazel chuckled at this, inclining her head in agreement. "That's true... Sometimes all I have to do is ask the right question and she'll spend an entire session talking."

"Precisely. In this case, that's exactly what you want, but you don't want the simple self-indulgent blather that the inmates tend to prattle on with, you want to get her talking about what's important to her. Keep it in perspective, Birch. Isley views herself as an extension of the Mother Goddess, as such she feels obligated to educate others upon that. If you ask her about the goddess, and her connection to nature, she will talk; likely in vivid and intense detail well beyond anything you possibly could have asked for." Belladonna replied, a wry smile twisting at her lips.

Hazel considered the new information in quiet contemplation. Playing to someones inherent flaws and faults wasn't something she normally did, but this was a special situation and she felt that Hayes's idea had a great deal of merit to it. "All right... If I do this, I need to have some comparisons, some way of continuing the conversation if she stops talking. What can you tell me about goddess worship from what you studied?"

Dr. Hayes gave a slight shrug, setting down her now empty tea cup. "Not a lot more than your average library book on the subject. The mother goddess is an aspect of almost every pagan religion, regardless of nation or culture. She is often called the triple goddess because she manifests as a young maiden, a woman in her motherly prime, or an elderly crone, depending upon either the situation or sometimes depending upon the time of the year. Numerous goddesses throughout many pantheons are all considered to be living embodiments of one central deity. Most believe this to be a more recent adaptation, a neo-pagan way of embracing all pagan pantheons into their religious beliefs, but the general principle of all goddesses being an embodiment of one actually dates back a very long time."

"How so?"

"Well, consider Gaea in ancient Greek mythology. She's the titan goddess who gave birth to all the Greek gods, even her own husband and other lovers. She is, essentially 'the one above all' in the Greek pantheon. Everyone of them can trace their origins back to her in one way or another; as such, every goddess of Greece is an extension of Gaea. This sort of symbolism can be found in religions from all over the world, Native American beliefs, European tribes, Asian mysticism, middle eastern practices; they all come back to the idea of a great mother giving birth to, well, to the world, essentially. I would be very surprised to learn that Ivy's beliefs are any different from this general concept." Belladonna explained, a thoughtful expression on her face as she once more slipped back into the old habits of a trained psychiatrist thinking on the mental and psychological applications of a spiritual belief. "All Isley's done is bypassed the low tiers of the pagan worship and gone straight for the top of the pyramid. If you'd like to know more I have quite a few books to on it in my reading room, but please make sure you put them back where you found them when you are done."

Hazel smiled brightly at thanked the doctor for her insight, then agreed to accept the offer of looking through the books. Dr. Hayes had agreed to let Hazel stay for the night and then to drive her back to the airport the next afternoon for flight back to the east coast, because of this generosity Hazel ended up staying up long into the night, falling asleep in the chair she had sat down in rather than retiring to the guest room Belladonna had kindly made up for her. At 11:30 Dr. Hayes woke her and gently urged her to bed; at nine o'clock the next morning she was woken just as gently and invited to come down stairs for breakfast.

Once shew as settled at the table Belladonna presented her with a plate of French toast and a bowl of diced fruit, as well as fresh orange juice and cold milk in a pitcher. Hazel was surprised by the amount of effort Hayes had put into the meal, and she felt a small pang of sadness for the older woman. This was what had happened to Belladonna Hayes after a stunning career in criminal psychiatry, she'd fled the city she grew up in, an extremely well paying job, and all her friends. She'd come out to the west side of the country and had settled here far from everything she'd once known. She lived alone, paranoid of threats from the outside world and meticulously keen of exactly how her house was kept. After years of helping others the kind woman lived a lonely, sheltered, hermit-like existence and the generosity she'd shown to Hazel screamed of just how desperately she missed being able to interact with people on a normal basis. While trying to brush the sad thoughts away Hazel made a mental note to keep in touch with Belladonna, it was obvious the woman wanted—and needed—a friend.

"So, how did you sleep?" Hayes asked, smiling as she took a seat across from Dr. Birch.

"Very well, thank you. I really can't express my gratitude for you doing this for me, for letting me come out here and agreeing to see me, and even giving me a place to stay." Hazel replied, smiling at the other woman as gratefully as one possibly could.

Belladonna Hayes smiled back, but then her smile faltered. "I must confess, Doctor Birch, there was an ulterior motive for my agreeing to let you fly out and meet me. I knew that the only way to convince you was to meet you face to face."

"Convince me...? Convince me of what?"


	11. Paging Doctor Crane

"You're getting in too deep, and you're about to make the same mistake I did," Dr. Hayes explained, furrowing her brow at the thought of some distant memory dancing in the shadows of her mind. "You're smart, Doctor Birch, I can tell that much already. I don't want to see a smart girl ruin her mind in that hellish excuse for a hospital. No one can recover from mental illness there, and none of those… _things_ want to."

"I'm not sure I understand–"

"Of course you don't. None of the young ones do, I certainly didn't. We dive in and before we know it we can't touch the bottom anymore, soon we have no choice but to keep swimming and when we're finally exhausted, overworked and dismayed we reach out for help... and the only hands we find to help lift us out of the depths belong to _them_."

Dr. Birch looked at the other psychiatrist in confusion, the rambling water metaphor left her own brain feeling rather soggy. Belladonna stared back at her then she shook her head and dropped her forehead into her cupped hands, heaving a sigh before rising back up to meet Hazel's gaze again. "To put it plainly, Hazel... In Arkham, there are no patients. There are only inmates. They're in there for a reason, and they need to stay there _forever._"

"I don't believe that, and I don't think you do either! That's not a psychiatrist talking that's the mindset forced on you by what Crane did to you."

"Did to me? Good heavens, is that what you think?" Dr. Hayes asked, unable to hide an amused tone. "Crane didn't do anything to me, Hazel. I asked him to talk with me, to reconsider and go back to his cell or come to my office so that we could talk… He chose the latter. In the middle of a break out he came to my office. By now he had the costume… those tattered old clothes and that battered hat, and the mask... That disgusting heap of burlap that makes him look like some twisted druggies notion of Oz."

* * *

Dr. Hayes stared at the grim sight before her. He wore heavy farm boots and heavily patched work pants, a frayed and tattered red cotton shirt covered his thin chest and an oversized straw hat that had more in common with the Witch of the West than a mid-west farmer was perched upon his burlap covered head. Over it all he still wore his own straight jacket, spattered with the blood of asylum guards like a badge of pride. Crane's face was obscured by the grisly burlap mask with its mouth sewn shut and it's wide, baggy eye holes allowing one to peer into the deranged man's own wild eyes, sunk deep in his skull and glittering with the unrestrained excitement of an animal on the hunt.

Looking into those eyes Dr. Hayes saw herself curled up on the floor in a fetal position, babbling insanely to herself and drooling like a rabid animal. The attack she anticipated never came, not in the way she expected at least. The Scarecrow locked her office door and turned to face her, then he removed his hat and mask and provided a surprisingly gentlemanly smile as he gestured to one of the seats in front of her desk.

"May I sit, doctor?" he asked politely, in the quiet unassuming voice that belied a mind that had delved so deep into the shadows of human imagination that it had never been able to crawl back out.

Dr. Hayes stared at him, bewildered for a moment, but then gave him a quick nod. She did not want to give him a chance to change his mind.

"Please, Dr. Crane, go right ahead," she replied, showing him the utmost respect in order to keep him docile.

"Thank you, Belladonna," he said, taking a seat and smiling at her again. "Now, I believe you wished to discuss about my impromptu attempt at early release, but I think I have something more important to discuss. If I am correct your reason for coming into this place day after day is because you believe you have dedicated your life to helping the mentally ill attempt reclaim their grasp upon sanity, correct?"

"Yes, Jonathon. That's why I'm here."

"But what motivates that desire, Doctor?"

"Because you need help, Jonathon, and it's my job to help you."

"Oh my dear doctor, no, you don't understand at all... goodness gracious, if I don't tell you the truth who will?" Crane asked, shaking his head while allowing himself a slow, drawling chuckle.

"And what is the truth, Jonathan?"

"Heh heh hnh… Oh, my dear Doctor Hayes, we aren't here to receive help. We're here to keep the rest of the world safe... Most of us are serving life sentences in this asylum, because the truth is this place isn't a hospital, Doctor, it's a penitentiary. Yes they call it an asylum, a hospital for the criminally insane, but the truth of the matter is that we aren't patients, we're prisoners, and I'm going to tell you why!"

Sporting a thing, bemused smile, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on her desk.

"Pick a patient, Doctor, and I'll tell you exactly why they are far beyond help!"

Belladonna hesitated, but she had to admit Crane had intrigued her and more importantly he was currently free, in costume, and most of the staff was so utterly terror stricken that help arriving seemed like an absolute impossibility. She had to play his game, or she risked becoming another casualty of his bid for freedom.

"All right," she said thoughtfully, "Tell me about… Edward Nigma."

"Ah, Edward… Interesting choice. Yes, he doesn't seem like a particularly dangerous one, does he? Murder isn't usually in his M.O. he's not a mad man, just a man with something to prove… But, you see, there is an aspect of Edward Nigma that makes him especially dangerous!" Crane pulled his feet off the desk and leaned forward in his chair, lifting a hand and tapping his own temple with his index finger. "The Riddler _knows_ things. He knows things about the people of Gotham, the bankers, the investors, the counselors and judges… He knows things about the companies, the bureaus and the departments… Cryptography, password rotation, triple coded firewalls, they're all just part of his game. Nothing will stop him from finding out what he wants to know and he wants to know _everything_. He's never satisfied, he always wants more, and that's why they can't afford to have him running around."

"And who are they, Jonathan?"

"Oh, you know that already, Doctor," Crane replied dismissively as he leaned back in his chair again. "Name another patient."

"Arnold Wesker."

The Scarecrow gave a derivative snort and rolled his eyes. "Please! We all know Arnold Wesker is just the cover for a far more dangerous man. Is he schizophrenic? Perhaps, but that doesn't make ScarFace any less real. Arnold Wesker is just using that puppet to hide from himself. It's easier to be a terrible person if he can blame a doll instead of acknowledging his own sadistic greed. Arnold Wesker isn't the one locked up here, its Mister Scarface they've sentenced to life in prison. Arnold Wesker is no threat to anyone... but the pint-sized mob boss sharing his bloated, overweight body? **There **is a menace to society!"

For a moment the villain and the psychiatrist simply stared at each other, and then Jonathan inclined his head with a pleasant smile, "Well? Next?"

"...Patient J."

"Oh please!" Crane scoffed and rolled his eyes. "That's too easy woman, you're boring me Doctor, give me a challenge!"

Belladonna steepled her fingers and closed her eyes, thinking about her choices before she finally lifted her gaze to meet Crane's dark eyes. "Isley."

"Aaah... Now there's a curiosity, she's not as simple to diagnose as you might think, and far more dangerous than most of you seem to realize."

Belladonna arched a brow in disbelief. "She's a misanthropic schizophrenic with dangerous chlorokinetic powers; that sort of volatile combination is bound to lead to disaster, but she's not got the sadistic streak that others here have."

"Others such as me, you mean," Crane surmised with a smirk. "But you haven't had a bedroom right next to hers for years on end. To hear that woman talk, my dear Doctor, she may well be one of the most disturbed individuals in this Asylum, after all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and in the eyes of Pamela Isley every human on earth has scorned her forevermore."

"Really?" Dr. Hayes asked, still dubious.

Crane gave her a rather nasty grin and leaned back in his seat, once more kicking his feet up. "Allow me to elaborate, my dear doctor, on the nature of our mutual acquaintance Dr. Pamela Isley, botanist, florist, and homicidal incarnation of nature's fury… To begin with, when she was brought in the last time, do you remember what she had done?"

"Of course. She attacked a CEO and his executives during a board meeting. Their company was the parent company to both a paper mill and a lumber yard… She killed three of them and the rest... The rest all had to be taken to intensive care."

"That's right! I'm impressed, Doctor, you really do a marvelous job of keeping up with the exploits of your patients! But, do you know what she actually did in that room, Doctor? Has she told you? Because, she's told Harleen Quinzel and I _every_detail! She was boasting about it the night she was brought in. She wasn't just frenzied or enticed, she was proud, she was bragging. '_You'd be proud of me, Crane_' she said to me; '_I made them scream,_ _I made them scream so loud as they watched it happen.'_ Oh how she gloated over her victory… Getting locked back up was a small price to pay for her joy that night!"

"...What did she make them watch?" Hayes asked in horror, too intrigued by this inside look at the life of one of her patients to stop listening.

"Why, the CEO's death of course," he replied with a chuckle, "would you like to know how she did it doctor?"

Dr. Hayes didn't want to know, yet she did, it was a twisted, cloying, and demandingly sick curiosity. The Scarecrow smiled with sadistic amusement as he carried on with his description.

"She forced a strawberry into his mouth and told him to swallow it. He did of course, what choice did he have? He swallowed it and then… Then it started to grow. Halfway down his throat a piece of food began expanding, growing, swelling while it was still inside his throat! The other board members could do nothing but watch in horror as his throat bloated like a frog's! They watched him turn blue and listened to him choke and gurgle, they watched his eyes bug out and his fingers spasm helplessly while vines held him in his chair. They watched until that little fruit was full and plump that the front of his throat ripped open, and his head fell backwards like a rag doll's!"

Hayes shuttered with disgust, provoking a laugh from her malicious conversation partner.

"Do pull yourself together, Doctor, we've only just begun! You see once the man was dead Ivy moved on to his sales director; that would be the woman who helped make all the sales from the trees they'd destroyed. You know I've heard people mention misandry in regards to Ivy, but I would say she's far from misandrous, indeed she's particularly brutal with female victims… Men can't help it, as far as she is concerned we're just dumb brutes, but women? No... No, women are traitors, they're deceivers, and they get special deaths!"

"I must say," he said ponderously, ignoring Dr. Hayes grimace of disgust at his last description, "I have a certain admiration for Miss Isley. She really is brilliant... Her knowledge of toxicology is greater than any other person on our planet, and of course, she's the only one of our number—other than _him—_who can instill a permanent phobia in someone. You know at least one victim of every crime she's ever committed has ended up with acute anthophobia? That takes class; you have to have a certain appreciation for fear to leave some screaming in terror at the sight of a bouquet! Heh... Heh hah hah… Ahhh, but, I do digress. Where was I...?"

"The... the sales director" Hayes replied, squirming subconsciously in her seat as she felt her flesh crawling.

"Ah yes! Well, Ivy called her up to the front of the room and put her on display. She made her state her name, her age, her general information... Alice Walsh, Mother of three, one with her first husband and two with her second, still happily married to her second husband... She was supposed to have dinner with her family that night. I'm sure you've already guessed that didn't happen, right?" Crane surmised with a cruel smile as he brought his feet down and pushed out of his chair, pacing the room as he continued his story.

"You see, Doctor, Ivy has a fixation on motherhood... You know she's infertile don't you? A side effect of Dr. Woodrue's experiment upon her body, she's completely barren, and learning that dear Alice was a mother sickened her to her very core; the idea that a mother of three would willingly work for a company which is slowly destroying the natural habitat of our world...? Oh that didn't sit right with Pammy at all."

Here the Scarecrow paused, canting his head and blinking disjointedly at Dr. Hayes, first his right eye and then his left. Belladonna could feel the bile on her tongue at this point, she was so disturbed by this entire situation that she feared she might actually have a panic attack. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her nerves were so badly shot that she couldn't stop her hands from trembling, and her stomach was aching so badly that it felt as if someone had poured an entire liter of soda into it.

"Why, Doctor Hayes... I'm not frightening you, am I?" Dr. Crane asked with a sly grin before he returned to his chair and sat down calmly. "Here... Let me speed up this story telling process with a little blunt truth. She brought Alice to the front of the room and she called forth one of her beloved rose vines, a cruel, barbed thing far thicker and stronger than what would naturally grow from a seed. She brought it up, cooing to it like it was one of Harley's beloved Hyenas, and then she had it rip the clothes from Alice Walsh's body, displaying her naked form to the rest of her captive audience, then... Lash by lash, she had that cruel, beautiful flower flay Mrs. Walsh. A rather nasty little trick that Pamela said she was inspired to use after watching Catwoman in a fight; did you know a master of the bullwhip can use the weapon to rend flash from muscle, and rip muscle from bone, all in a single vicious lash? That's exactly what Pamela Isley has her cruel little pet do to Alice Walsh. Oooooh... I wish I could have heard the screams," Crane lamented ruefully.

"Stop it! Enough, Crane!"

"Oh but doctor we're almost done with our little tale. You see the next one was yet another man... Oh and the poor fellow. Human Resources," he chuckled and rolled his eyes, "can you imagine her reaction? Oh she seethed even once she was back in her cell; you should have heard her spit the words out, like the foulest curse on the planet: 'Human Resources!' She found it to be an amusingly cruel oxymoron. A company that helps to destroy acres of natural resources with every passing minute, and the head of their human resources department is _unlucky_ enough to meet Pamela Isley on a bad day... Care to guess what happened to this fellow, Dr. Hayes?"

"N-no," Belladonna replied shakily.

"Pity... Well I'll tell you anyway! You see, a sad truth is that you cannot _make_ someone do something that is entirely against their moral character. If someone isn't a killer, you can't make him kill. If someone is not a natural sadist you can't make them torture someone. People simply won't go against their own moral fiber… Unless, of course, you can find a way to justify it to them! Ivy has made an art form of that, and she wanted to see Clyde Perkins, head of Human Resources, kill all his fell executives. By Pamela's description Clyde was a strapping lad, 6 foot even, athletic, the typical modern yuppie, completely absorbed in his outer appearance! Image is everything in the modern business world, and Poison Ivy knows all about image; if she didn't hold such utter contempt for modern industry she could probably be the CEO of her own cosmetics company. Oh, I do prattle on don't I?" Crane asked with a chuckle before pressing on. "She knew she couldn't turn a simple yes-man into her personal trained murder-monkey, so she put Atropa Belladonna to use. Oh, I say, rather ironic name coincidence isn't it Dr. Hayes? Deadly Nightshade is a favorite of Isley's, she uses it only for special cases—you know you might want to write this down!"

In spite of herself, Hayes reached for one of her writing pads and a pen as the Scarecrow continued to talk. Frantically she began scribbling notes on him, what he was revealing about Poison Ivy, and the insights into the odd community of respectful hatred for one another that the Gotham Rogues had created for themselves.

"In the proper dosage nightshade causes bouts of memory loss, spacial disorientation, hallucination, and the inability to tell reality from fantasy... She gave a good strong dose of the stuff to dear old Perkins and sealed it all with one of those cruelly wonderful kisses of hers. The perfect combination of control devices to deceive Clyde Perkins into being her personal puppet! The next thing the boy knows he's giving the Heimlich maneuver to a co-worker who is choking to death during the lunch break at their business meeting. Of course, that was all an illusion, there was no real choking, no food lodged in a windpipe, just Clyde, squeezing and yanking on another man's chest until he shattered his ribs...

"Next Pam let one of her other captives go, the stupid oaf made a dash for the door to save himself and Pam twisted Clyde's mind to see a disgruntled employee running for a gun; next thing dear old Clyde knows he's tackled this other man to the ground and is beating him within an inch of his life! One by one, with each and every person in the room, she used Clyde Perkins to do all her dirty work and finally the exertion of it all pushed the toxins fully through Clyde's system and..." Crane paused here and made the whistling sound affect of a falling bomb. "Good bye, Mr. Perkins."

Dr. Hayes gazed at him, her pen resting against her right pad, forming a slow dripping ink blot at the bottom of the page as she and Crane held each other's eyes. Crane blinked, hard, and she flinched. The pen fell out of her hand and hit the floor, all because he had blinked his eyes. She'd never been so ashamed of herself in all her career and Jonathan Crane laughed at her for it.

"Tell me, Doctor... Do you think Pamela Isley is _truly_ a psychopath?"

She stared at him in silence and pressed her lips together in reluctant defeat before finally spitting the words out angrily, "No. I don't."

"And the truth shall set you free," he replied, giving a slow, monotonous clap. "I quite agree doctor... She's nothing like a psychopath. That's what sets some of us apart from the others, doesn't it? It's why you dislike therapy sessions with me... It's why you don't like having to sit down for an hour and a half with her each Wednesday morning. It's why you can't wrap your pretty Italian brain around what in God's name is wrong with Harleen Quinzel? Oh, don't look so surprised, Doctor Hayes, I was a psychiatrist once too, remember?"

Hayes did remember, and she knew what he was doing. He was trying to get inside her head, to mess with her, screw with her, to twist her in upon herself. She recognized this, realized this, and yet she felt powerless to stop it.

"Ivy... Joker... Quinn... _Me_... We're the ones that keep you up at night, Doctor," he whispered, his voice dropping to a predatory gravel, his eyes dancing with a malicious gleeful excitement as he spoke. "The Joker is completely insane, and yet... He shows moments of clarity, moments of true genius that simply aren't possible for a mind as twisted as his seems to be. Next we have Harley, dear little Harleen Quinzel. She was a brilliant psychiatry student, one of the best of her class, I believe. She graduated with top honors, immediately got hired on here and within mere months she's succumbed to the madness of Arkham Asylum... Seduced by that clown, turned into his bouncing, flouncing air headed, pig-tailed circus slut; deplorable isn't it?"

Hayes squirmed again. She wished he wasn't blocking the door. She wished she could run out, or someone else would run in. Guards, police, even the Batman, anyone that could make this all stop.

"It sends a chill down your spine, doesn't it doctor? And it makes you wonder… If Harley adores the Joker despite all that he does to her, and others, then what sort of twisted things has she witnessed Pamela Isley doing? As you said, Poison Ivy is no psychopath; she's too quick, too smart, too devilishly wicked. The think about Pamela is how crazy she _acts_, just to make you forget how sane she is. I dare say she's as stable as you or I. Yes, yes, you all say she's insane but we all know it's a lie to help you sleep at night. A true psychopath can't concoct the schemes or execute them with such precision… She reminds me of me in a way! She and I? We're like Anthony Hopkins."

For the first time in their conversation Belladonna did a double take. They're like Anthony Hopkins? What in the devil's name did that mean? Perhaps this all really was nonsense, just the blathering, rambling words of a madman. For a brief moment Dr. Hayes was beginning to feel in control of herself again, and then he explained himself.

"Hannibal Lecter seems like a sociopath. Hopkins played the part flawlessly, brilliantly. The Silence of the Lambs is my absolute favorite movie you know. Nothing is more terrifying than the inside of the human mind," Crane crooned in a way that seem almost paternal, rubbing his hands together and chuckling once more as he explained his thought process. "Yes, he seemed truly mad, and yet, sometimes he's so kind, so polite and chivalrous, and then you have to ask yourself: Is he truly insane? Is he mad, or is he just that far out? Is he a lunatic, or a brilliant doctor, so fascinated and engrossed in the nature of his work that he willingly dives headlong into the traits and aspects of insanity just so that he can better understand the nature of the human mind?"

Belladonna cringed. She had always appreciated the film too, and for the very reason that Crane had just described, the fact that he had observed the same things she had made their mutual admiration of the movie become a stomach turning realization for her. She became aware of her quaking hands and her quivering feet, she realized she was sweating, her heart was pounding again and her mouth had run dry.

"That's why you're shivering in your chair like a terrified school girl, Doctor. It's because, deep down, you know the truth. You know it, I know it, and Jeremiah Arkham knows it. That's why he's so adamant that this facility keep running. It's why he always makes sure the security stays up to date and the building keeps up to code; because no one else must ever know the truth, that we're as sane as the rest of you! We don't do it out of madness, or psychosis, we do it because it fascinates us! It satisfies us, amuses us, or just solves the problem of boredom. That's what it's all about, Doctor, self-gratification. It's not about good or evil, sanity or madness, it's just a basic human instinct; the only difference between you and us is that we've let go of inhibitions."

* * *

As Belladonna Hayes finished explaining the events of that fateful night to Hazel the younger psychiatrist felt as if someone had stuffed her mouth with cotton. She couldn't remember the last time she'd swallowed. Her feet had fallen asleep and her shoulders ached from hunching forward in disturbed fascination at Dr. Hayes's tale.

"But... How did you get away?"

"I didn't... After that he pulled the hood back on he put his hat on—and he tipped it to me—then he walked out. Two guards were just reaching the employee corridor. They saw him leaving my office... I don't know what he did to them but the screams... I remember their screams."


	12. Crayons and Aspirin

"You **what**?" Eric asked, lifting his eyebrows as he gazed at her.

"I believe Pamela Isley is a candidate for rehabilitation! Jesus, Eric, how many times do I have to say it?" Hazel asked in exasperation.

"As many as it takes for it to stop sounding crazy!" He replied, his voice tense from the alarm he felt by how excited Hazel seemed about all this. "We are talking about the same person right? Pamela Isley, as in **Poison Ivy**, as in a woman who has attempted to eradicate the populace of this city and the world—on more than one occasion, mind you!"

"She's different now!"

"Hazel are you out of your skull?! How can this be _different_, it's still Poison Ivy! Look, I don't mean to insult your prowess as a therapist, sweet heart, but how long did you say this Ms. Hayes had been working on Ivy?"

"Doctor," Hazel corrected testily, "And she'd been at Arkham for over seven years."

"Eight years... And you think you've managed to do in seven months what she couldn't do in seven years?"

"No!" Hazel protested, shaking her head.

"No!?" Eric exclaimed in exasperation.

"Of course not, Eric!" his girlfriend replied tersely, then she paused and took a breath to calm herself down. "Look... you're looking at this from the small perspective, so was I at first but look at the big picture... Dr. Hayes and I approached Pamela in the same way. Our treatment patterns were almost identical. You have to look at it from the medical point of view. It's a treatment, just like any other treatment. If you're in rehab after knee surgery you might change physical therapists but you're still going to be continuing to work to strengthen your knee. The doctors changed, the treatment didn't, what Pamela is experiencing now isn't from my seven months with her, it's from the culminated efforts of Dr. Hayes and myself. This breakthrough has come for her after 8 years of therapy; don't you get it, this may be her one time chance at sorting things out inside her own mind! Think of what she can do for Gotham, hell, for our whole planet, if she can be reformed!" Hazel exclaimed, her excitement returning so strongly Eric could almost feel it in the air.

Eric sighed and hung his head a moment, then shook it in defeat. "Okay, Haze, okay. Just... just be careful, all right?" He stepped closer, placing his hands on her shoulders and drawing her in to place a soft kiss upon her forehead. "I don't want you to get hurt..."

"I'll be careful, Eric." She replied, smiling gently up at him and lifting a hand to caress his cheek. "Just you watch, this is going to change the world."

* * *

"Bored... Bored, bored, booooooooooooooored!"

"Harley, would you stop that, please?" Pamela cooed motheringly from her cell.

"But, Red, there's nothing to doooooo!"

"...Harley... It's Arkham, there's never anything to do. We're **imprisoned** remember?"

"Well, let's bust out!"

"No."

"No!?"

"I don't want to."

"Aw, come on Red, you've gotta be feeling as cooped up as I do by now, you've been in here almost eight months; that's like your longest vacation ever!"

"You make it sound like breaking out of here is **easy** Harl, and you and I both know that—contrary to the popular opinion—it's not."

"But that doesn't mean we couldn't pull it off!"

"Harley, listen to the words I am speaking: I. Am Not. Breaking. Out."

From the next cell Pamela heard Harley blow a very loud raspberry and mutter a few sulkish bad words.

"GUARDS!" Pamela barked angrily.

"Eek! Red, no! Don't tell on me, don't, don't, I'm sorry, I take it back I didn't mean to say somethin' nasty about ya!"

Holly Madison walked briskly down the hall, arcing a brow as she approached Poison Ivy's cell. "Is something wrong, Pamela?"

Pamela nodded wearily, rubbing her temples in slow, massaging circles. "Holly, would you get me an aspirin? And a coloring book for Miss Quinn please? She's getting cabin fever."

Holly chuckled and then nodded agreeably. "Sure thing, Pam, try not to go stir crazy, I'll be back as fast as I can."

As Holly walked away Harleen Quinzel let out a gentle sigh of relief, then she budded up to the wall and spoke through the vent again. "Look at you, Miss Isley, all buddy buddy with the guards; before you know it you'll be our the new go-to girl for getting contraband, you'll make Jervis jealous!"

Ivy snorted derivatively at this. "Please, if I want to make Jervis Tetch jealous I'd find one of his Alice obsessees and take picture of her, doing for me, all the things she would _never_ do for him."

"Ouch, Red, that's nasty!"

"Prison isn't for the faint of heart, Harl, you know that; Besides, Tetch is a _worm_."

"I thought it was a hospital?"

"What?" Isley replied in confusion.

"Arkham... Ain't it s'pose to be a hospital?"

"What it is and what it is supposed to be are two different things, pet."

* * *

When Pamela came into the meeting room at her next therapy session she was met with a surprising sight. Dr. Birch was not on a chair, instead she was sitting on a large cushion on the floor, reading a rather large book. She was uncharacteristically dressed, whearing simple pale green yoga pants and a white T-shirt. The ensemble drew an amused smile to Pamela's lips and made her guards blink in surprise. The red head looked to Margaret and Holly with a demure smile.

"Thank you for the escort, Ladies, I think I can find my own way into the room from here."

"S-sure, Pam..." Margaret stammered, staring in surprise at Hazel for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving the room with Holly.

The door click closed and Pamela slowly approached, looking around as she went. The curtains were pulled all the way back to let in the most sun possible, there was a sitting cushion on the ground across from Hazel and Pamela took this to be her intended seat. Settling on the cushion she smiled at Hazel and canted her head.

"So, Dr. Arkham finally agreed that Joker's idea of Casual Wednesdays was a good one, hmm?" Isley asked dryly.

Hazel chuckled, then smiled. "Not exactly. I just thought this would be more comfortable, because today I want you to be the teacher."

Pamela's eye brows jumped. "I'm sorry?"

"I want to learn from you Pamela... you've brought up the Goddess often when we've talked, but you've never really elaborated much on her, or upon your beliefs. I'd really like to hear about that today, I think it might help me better understand you, not just your mental illness but to understand you better as a person."

"You're serious?" Pamela asked dubiously, arching a brow. "Do you realize how rare it is for a person to ask a Goddess worshiper about their beliefs in a non-confrontational manner..? You've just joined a very small group of people doctor, people with a faith like mine are used to a great deal of persecution."

"I know, Pam. That's part of why I want to learn more, I think that persecution may actually add to your general hostility, and I'm hoping that if you talk it out, and I listen like a reasonable person, we might be able to make another breakthrough in your condition, and bring you another step closer to getting out of here."

"You really believe there's a chance they'll let me leave this wretched place, don't you?" Pamela asked with a dismayed sense of amusement.

"I believe in the system Pamela, and I believe in you. You're finally on the road to recovery, and I don't intend to let you be pulled off it."

Pamela drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. For a moment Hazel smelt the rich heady scent if Stargazer Lilies as Pamela smile at her. "Very well, Doctor. Let us see what I can teach you today..."


	13. Trust

"Tell me, Pamela, what led you to the Goddess?"

"Oh... That's a very old story. I'm not sure I can say for **certain** when it was. I first became interested in neo-pagan belief before the 'incident' with Dr. Woodrue, but it was more a minor hobby than an actual desire to practice. Intellectual light reading, if you will."

"I see...And this all changed after what Dr. Woodrue did to you?"

"Of course!" Ivy exclaimed in surprise, as if any other possibility were absurd to consider. "Jason Woodrue changed **everything** about me. I may not like the methods, but I cannot deny that his experiment opened my eyes to the world...And it's eyes to me."

"How so?"

Ivy sighed and leaned back, tilting her head back so the sun splashed across her face and neck, caressing her skin with it's warmth. She gave a light, dreamy sigh and brought her handcuffed hands up over her chest, resting her palms over her breath as if yo hold her own heart. "It was a revelation... a miracle... Divine intervention! Call it what you will, it happened for me! Apollo has his Oracle at Delphi, God had Abraham, and Gaea... She has me."

"So, you see yourself as a prophet for nature?"

"That and so much more, Hazel! Oh my dear, you think so small. If only I could show you what it's like!" Isley exclaimed, springing from her cushion, moving to the wind to press her fingers against the reinforced glass with a longing smile. To hear her, to smell her, to touch her every waking hour; why, even in my dreams, I'm still in touch with her... Except for when I'm here. Trapped; in this pitiful excuse for a hospital, stewing in a dank, cold cell, while the plants get quieter, and quieter..."

"So, mother nature talks to you?"

"No, no, you misunderstand... It's not like Christ appearing to someone and giving them a directive. We aren't separate individuals... We are one. I am an extension of her being, her will. I am her eyes and ears on the mortal plain. When Woodrue opened me to the natural world, I finally understood by true purpose doctor, I finally understood why I was on this planet!"

"And what is that purpose, Pamela?"

"To save the world, of course!" she replied, sounding mildly irritated that she was having to spell it out so plainly for Dr. Birch.

"To save the world..? But, Pam, I don't understand; all the people you've hurt, doesn't that fly in the face of your goal?"

A sharp laugh escaped the patience lips before she caught herself and calmed down again. She looked back at Dr. Birch with a patronizing smile. "Oh Hazel, you misunderstand... you're looking at this from a human perspective." She turned back to the window, gesturing out towards Gotham city in the distance. "When you look at Gotham, what do you see?"

"Well... I see buildings, homes, and businesses, and from a less literally point of viewed I see people; families, mothers, fathers, children, and the lives they-"

"I see a graveyard." Poison Ivy interrupted icily, jarring Hazel in mid-sentence.

"A... A graveyard?"

"Where Gotham now stands there was a beautiful new england forest... Before the silver rush struck the region in the early 1800s this land was nothing but forests, cliffs, streams, wild flowers, the homes to thousands of plants and hundreds of animals who help preserve the delicate balance of nature. You look at Gotham City and you see homes... I look at Gotham city and I see homes _destroyed._ The habitat for thousands of innocent lives, all crushed to make way for human greed. Those buildings are homes, they're head stones. For every skyscraper in that skyline over two dozen trees were destroyed."

Poison Ivy turned away from the window and looked to her Psychiatrist. Dr. Birch was stunned to see tears in the villainess's eyes as Pamela slowly walked back to her cushion and sat down. She lifted her head to look sadly at Hazel as she shed a single tear down each cheek. Around them Hazel now smelt the scent of citrus, the typical scent Isley exuded when she was upset about something.

"I am sorry for the lives I have taken, Hazel, I truly am... But when I look out there, I can't see what you see. I can't see human lives, and human families... All I can see is the pain they've brought to other living things. When I walk along the Gotham Harbor and my feet touch the sand, and I listen to he waves, I do not feel peace or tranquility... I feel pain. I hear the earth screaming in agony from the polluted water lapping at it's shores. When I walk in Robinson park and sit in the shade of an old Elm tree, I don't feel contentment, I feel condemnation, because all I can sense is the anger of that tree, confined to the width of the park, it's roots longing to stretch out and be free, but they are held in and kept from growing by hundreds of concrete sewer tunnels running through the earth beneath the city." Pamela explained, her voice quaking, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "There is no human created place I can go on earth where I do not feel the pain and anger of mother nature."

"And you... believe you are mother nature?"

"If I say yes then it means I'm crazy and then I can't be made a candidate for rehabilitation.."

"Not necessarily, Pamela... It all depends on your point of view. From what your describing it doesn't sound like you believe yourself to be the one and only god-"

"Well of course not!" Isley replied testily. "I'm not a fool doctor, I've been outside Gotham, I've encountered more than just the Batman, I've seen things that prove to me there's more to this world than just humans and nature. There are more things in heaven and earth than dreamt of in our philosophy."

"Then tell me more, Pamela... Explain what you mean when you say you and mother nature are one..."

The red head side and cradled her head in her hands for a moment. "It's difficult to explain... To begin with you have to understand the concept behind it all... Goddess myth dates back hundreds of years-"

"Yes, and shows up in many different cultures; almost every culture in the world, in fact."

"I'm impressed with your knowledge." Pamela said idly, her tone suggesting she wasn't impressed at all. "Tell me doctor, what do dragons, mother earth, and visitors from the sky all have in common?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do they have in common? Can you figure that out?" Pamela asked, looking at Hazel curiously.

Hazel stopped to consider this, then the answer came to her and a slightly intrigued expression crossed her features. "They all are present in nearly every civilizations folk lore."

Pamela smiled. "No matter how remote, no matter how isolated from other people and places... Almost every culture on earth has myths and stories about visitors from the sky, mother nature, and dragons; many cultures from different areas on earth have stories that are almost identical to each other. They say every story of fiction has a basis in truth; don't you find it odd that civilizations that have never met can have stories that are so similar?"

"You're suggesting these tales are more truth than fiction?"

"I'm suggesting they're as close to truth as a humans can be when talking about something they don't understand. In mother nature's case the story is almost always that mother nature came, and from her came the next chain, of gods, and from them the next followed. Even when Christianity became the most popular religion on earth, Mother Nature endured; she even has Earth Day, the spring equinox. You see, she endures because she must... She has given to much of herself to the inhabitants of this world, to give up now would be to admit defeat. That's why I am here... To be her incarnation, her human host... I am the Goddess, but the goddess is also me. I am the vessel through which she makes her will manifest. I am the force that ensures she doesn't have to give up hope." Pamela explained with a growing smile. "You see, contrary to the opinions of the Batman and your esteemed colleagues, I don't want every human on earth destroyed... No, indeed, I believe many of them are quite capable of redemption. There are those who have made steps in the right direction, those who deserve my mercy."

"And what decides whether a person deserves your mercy, Pamela...?"

"Oh that depends... Have they learned? Have they adapted? Are they aware of how quickly humanity is killing the earth, and are they making steps to stop it? For example the Amish... The Amish never take more from the world than they need, and for what they destroy they often give back. Traditional native americans, the ones who have stayed true to their ancestry and not abandoned their roots, they are very caring toward the earth; for anything they take from her they give back twice as much. Many modern neo-pagans, the very people who worship the goddess, are constantly striving for better protection of mother earth. Humanity is not without it's redeeming members, they're just over shadowed by the blight that is the common human."

"Pamela... Reconfirm this for me. You are saying you do not believe that all of humanity need be destroyed; in fact you just said every human is capable of redemption, yes?"

"Do I really need to repeat myself?"

"Yes!" Hazel replied, suddenly snatching her miniature recorder off the nearby coffee table, clicking the record button and holding the device up towards Pamela. "Repeat it for me, Pamela, please."

Suddenly a look of understanding entered Pamela Isley's eyes and she smiled at her psychiatrist. "Very well... I believe that humanity is capable of redemption. I believe the world can be saved, and humanity can be saved along with it, if they could only learn to protect their planet rather than destroying her. I believe every child of the earth is capable of redeeming themselves, they simply need someone to show them the way. Someone like me..."

Hazel clicked the recorder off just as Pamela finished speaking. The Psychiatrist was beaming at her patient now and she reverently set the recorder back down, as if it were a priceless and rare artifact from archaeological dig. As she set the recorder aside she looked to Pamela with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Pamela was now smiling just as wide and seemed to show equal excitement in her own expression.

"We're on the right track, Pamela. If we keep this up, I think you're going to make it out of here, and make it once you get out too." Hazel paused a moment, then she nodded as if in confirmation to some unspoken thought of her own. "I'll even sponsor your rehabilitation."

"You'll what?" Isley exclaimed, doing a double take. "Dr. Birch, no! You can't, if something goes wrong, even if I don't mean to do something, even if I'm merely pushed over the edge by circumstance... If you sponsor me now it could be the end of your career if things don't work!"

"It could have been the end of my career if you'd told the guards that I was the fool who inadvertently exposed you to plant pollen; but you didn't tell them. You didn't let me down then, and I don't believe you'll let me down now." Dr. Birch smiled at her patient and inclined her head gently. "I trust you, Pamela."


	14. Encryption

**  
Encryption **P0151N1V3

**  
Open Log  
Priority Alert to all Operatives**  
**Originator: **Boss  
**Forwarding: **Oracle

Dr. Jeremiah Arkham recently notified Bruce Wayne and the other members of the Rehabilitation Board at Arkham Asylum that Dr. Hazel Birch has filed for an oversight review of Patient 0422; Pamela Isley A.K.A Poison Ivy. Dr. Arkham also sent Bruce Wayne a personal letter which has been transcribed into the log.

_My Dear_ _Mr. Wayne,_

_I realize it has been some time sense our last interaction, but since your corporation is the primary security provider for my hospital, and your own generous donations have made it possible for us to continue treatment of our patients and made it possible for us to maintain constantly up-to-date security I felt it prudent to inform you of a recent motion brought before us by one of our resident psychiatrist's Hazel Birch._

_Doctor Birch is moving for a re-evaluation of Pamela Isley whom you may know better as the rather infamous Poison Ivy; many men throughout the city's powerful elite have been lured into her schemes in the past, including yourself, sir. Because of this I wished to bring the matter to your direct attention and have taken the time to compose this hand written letter which I will be labeling for your eyes only in the post. Doctor Birch has been treating Patient 0422 for nearly nine months now. Three months ago Isley had a mental break down. The patient began sobbing uncontrollably and screaming so loudly as to disturb the other patients within the maximum security ward of the hospital. She was inconsolable, refusing to even speak with any of us and demanding to see Dr. Birch._

_The doctor was contacted and she and Isley met in the designated therapy meeting room for the Max. Sec. patients. Isley showed signs of extreme remorse and trauma, and made claims of sexual abuse by a "Hugh Manning." At this time we have not been able to confirm these claims and their validity is still in question a weeks later patient 0422 managed to acquire contraband material, specifically she was able to obtain plant genes and use them to grow a deadly plant commonly called Deadly Nightshade. She used it to attack her guards, and Dr. Birch, in a fit of anger._

_Dr. Birch maintains that this was a momentary lapse in judgment, the result of stressful therapy techniques which she inaccurately theorized that Pamela was ready for. Eyewitness testimony declares that Isley was, in fact, the only thing that prevented Dr. Birch's demise. After a week in recuperation in the hospital Dr. Birch returned to work and continued therapy with the patient. She now maintains that over the past two months Pamela Isley has show noticeable improvement and on the surface I am inclined to agree with her._

_ During the eighth month of therapy, November, Dr. Birch inquired into Pamela Isley's religious beliefs and the patient opened up to her. They have since developed a rapport which I must admit is remarkable to me and unlike any I have seen before in this institution. The patient no longer requires restraints, and though she remains in her maximum security cell her guards and psychiatrist have expressed opinion that such precautions are no longer necessary. In spite of this, I have over-ruled Dr. Birch's motion to have Isley removed from Max. Sec. _

_If you have not already guessed, sir, I believe the patient is attempt to deceive my staff. She has long shown a tendency towards misandry, that is to say, the hatred of men; however, she has recently begun to show capability of tolerating the presence of male guards, even being fairly civilized with them, without showing any of her usual flirtatious or insinuative tendencies. This is unusual, even if she were to be recovering from her more violently unstable behavior, misandry is a psychological condition that affects many women and it is unlikely to disappear through the course of the therapy that has been focused on treating the patient's more violent tendencies. If anything, it should become more prevalent as her more hostile desires diminished. _

_Isley continues to express remorse for her prior misconduct and criminal behavior, and she has been witnessed many times breaking down in tears and bemoaning the lives she has taken in the past. I do not believe this remorse, Mr. Wayne. Pamela Isley is a very dangerous woman; she is notorious for her deception and guile, and I do not think this instance is any different than her previous attempts. _

_Despite my misgivings however, I am not in a position to oppose her reevaluation at this time. She is no longer showing any violent urges and has participated in no such activities. She has kept a constant record of good conduct over the past two months, and she is showing marked improvement in her social and behavioral norms. I will soon have no choice but to admit her for reevaluation and consideration for the Patient Rehabilitation Program; which you are currently a chief board member of._

_I simply wished to inform you of my professional opinion before you and the rest of the board were forced to sit down for an appeal with the patient, her doctor, and her lawyer. Do not let her deceive you again, Mr. Wayne, you have seen what this woman is capable of. I implore you, do not allow her to leave the Asylum; I do not believe she can be cured at all, and she is certainly to dangerous to admit into the rehab program._

_Sincerely, _

_Dr. Jeremiah Arkham _

_Chief of Medicine_

_Arkham Asylum Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane_

I consider Jeremiah Arkham to be of questionable sanity, and I've never considered his opinion to be a particularly valid one. He is a notoriously paranoid, passive-aggressive individual who is notoriously favorable towards the patients who have the best chance of elevating the fame and prestige of himself and his institution.

That said, Arkham's analysis may not be completely without merit. While I always attempt to keep a faithful hope that our adversaries can be helped and reformed, the possibility of Poison Ivy turning over a new leaf seems unlikely.  
**O **– Begin monitoring phone lines from AA, record and transmit any calls regarding Isley or Birch directly to me.

**R** – Take up west end patrol route MWF, adding drive by of AA to my route.

**BG **– Cover docks T-TH, " "

Final Note, O, dig up everything you can on Francis Andrews, SS# 873-10-9932. Go as far back as you can, I want everything.

* * *

**Encryption: **B42B42A

**Re: Andrews  
Originator:** O  
**Receiver:** Boss

B,

Attached all I can on Andrews.

Quick Summary:

Just two years after adopting her alias as Ivy Pammy paid daddy dearest a visit, she attempted to kill him. He was current living in Coast City and you relaid information of Isley's presence in the city to GL via watchtower. GL tracked her down and apprehended her and saved her father's life. Andrews is now in Wit. Proc.  
**Current Name: **Franklin Pierce  
**Residence:** Oakland, SD  
**Presiding US Marshall: **Allison Blake

_**Attachment: **__.29341041421j_

* * *

**Encryption: **B42B42A.1V3

**Re: Andrews**

**Originator: **Boss  
**Receiver: **O

Good work. Notify BG, R, full patrol.  
Out of G, SatSun.

- B


	15. Chief of Medicine

Doctor Birch sat at her desk, quietly reviewing her notes of the morning's therapy session while Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filled the air, played over the speakers of her computer via iTunes. Hazel found that a soothing melody helped clear her head and kept her objective after long days at the office, and today had been a long one. It had been several weeks had past since her initial attempt to bring Pamela's religious convictions into the talks they had during therapy sessions; Isley was making vast improvements, but they had hit a new hurdle.

The chief of medicine doubted the validity of Isley's recovery, and he was taking steps to prevent her admission into the spring review for rehabilitation candidates. Hazel was musing over how to ensure he didn't prevent her patience admittance when a knock came at the door. She stood up and went to the door, she recognized the silhouette through the powdered glass and her shoulders tightened as she opened the door and stepped aside without a word, allowing Dr. Jeremiah Arkham to come into her office.

"I understand you're still pushing for Pamela Isley's admittance into the spring review for rehab." He said as he entered. No beating around the bush, no pleasantries, this wasn't going to be an enjoyable conversation.

"I am, sir." She replied calmly.

Doctor Arkham's eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat in a way that reminded Hazel of a growling bull dog. Slowly she made her way back to her desk and sat down, gesturing to one of the chairs across from her for him to sit.

"Doctor, why are you so against Isley's rehabilitation?"

"The real question, Dr. Birch, is why aren't you?" He replied, sitting down and taking a folder out from under his arm where he's tucked it away as he came in. He held the folder out to her, leaning forward over her desk. "Look at this."

"What is it...?" she asked, taking the file and flipping it open. She lost her grip on the folder within an instant, dropping it on her desk and scattering it's contents.

Inside the file there was a series of photos, each grislier and more stomach churning than the last. The first picture seemed innocent enough, but when combined with the rest of the photos it seemed absolutely nauseating. The photo was of a massive flower, bright pink with splashes of yellow across it's petals. The flower was sealed into a bulb, as if waiting for the right moment to blossom, and it seemed content amidst hundreds of smaller flowers inside what Hazel recognized as the Gotham Botanical Gardens.

The next picture showed the same flower inside a lab room she recognized. It was the lab her boyfriend, Eric, used at the Gotham CSI department's forensic laboratories; Eric was actually in the picture, pushing a large projection lamp into place behind the flower. The third photo in the series showed the flower illuminated by the lamp, and to her alarm, she saw that the bright light was shining through the flower petals. Something could be seen inside the flower, like a projection slide, she could see a human outline inside the flower.

"Starting to get the picture, Doctor Birch?" Arkham inquired with a scowl as she flipped through the photos.

The third photo showed Eric slicing open the flower with a large cutting saw and sending a viscous green liquid oozing out of the cut plant matter while a three other people looked one, one of whom she recognized as Commissioner James Gordon. In the fourth file the entire group was seen scrambling backwards as the petals gave way and fell open and the fluid spilled all across the floor, along with the corpse of human, who's skin had been completely eaten away by the strange fluid and whose muscle tissue was beginning to go the same way. Hazel felt bile rise in her throat as Jeremiah Arkham calmly leaned back in his chair.

"Do you have any guess why she killed him, Doctor?" Arkham asked, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Hazel looked up at him, her cheeks looking almost green at the disgusting series of photos. Jeremiah Arkham seemed completely unphased, both by the photographs and by the younger doctor's disgust. "He was in Robinson Park... Reading the Gotham Gazette, and he smiled at her. Holding paper in his hands, and smiling at her; she found it offensive, Doctor Birch. According to the analysis, that plant took roughly 48 hours to completely erode his flesh, and he was alive for the first 32 or so of those hours... Slowly being digested inside an over sized houseplant."

Hazel forced herself to calm down, take a few steadying breaths as she stuffed the photographs back into the file and then slapped it closed, her fingers pressing down on the envelope as if it might fly open and attempt to show her the grim scene again.

"Why did you show me this?"

"Because this is the creature you are attempting to set free, Doctor Birch. She's not even **human** anymore, Doctor; she knows it, I know it, the guards know it, her fell inmates know it, why don't you?"

"She **is** human... Your refusal to acknowledge that reflects more upon you than upon her, Doctor Arkham. The woman I am treating is not the woman who committed those gruesome acts, that was Poison Ivy, a deranged misanthropic psychopath with extreme misandry. She can no more be held responsible for her crimes than the joker can be for his; but the woman I am treating now is not Poison Ivy. My patient is Pamela Isley, a once respected botanical intern with a brilliant and under appreciated mind, who could be of extreme importance to the future of man kind. She could help solve global crises, she could end our extreme climate imbalance, and she could put an end to world hunger; she deserves our respect and help to ensure that she heals, and she cannot **heal** in this place!" Hazel declared, throwing her hands out at the room around her. "It's killing her Doctor, I've seen it myself and she knows it too, she just refuses to acknowledge it! She IS more plant than human, yes, but she still has a human mind. She body cannot survive in the dark recesses of maximum security, she withers, she frails... With each passing month her skin has become paler, her eyes duller, her hair thinner, she needs sun light, she needs fresh air and clean water. What we're doing to her is cruel and unusual punishment. Not to mention the affect it has on her humanity!"

"And what, prey tell, do you mean by that?" Jeremiah Arkham asked, leaning back in his seat. Dr. Birch actually seemed to have piqued his interest now, he stared at her with raised eyebrows an intrigued expression.

Realizing her unique position of favor she pressed on ward. "Consider yourself, Doctor. When I joined this institution I expected to meet the same man who I've read about in psychiatric magazines and medical journals, the doctor who was a strong advocate of human rights and who felt so passionately for the rehabilitation of his patients. It was you who wrote the fascinating, and very intuitive, article theorizing that the greatest hurdle the patients at Arkham face in their attempts at rehabilitation... Is Batman. You said one of the biggest challenges for people like Isley, and Patient J, and Crane is that they're constantly being hounded by a man dressed as a bat, a man who refuses to see them as human beings but who instead sees them as nothing but monsters. Since I joined this facility, Doctor, I have **met** that man... And he believes in rehabilitation far more than you do. What happened to you, Jeremiah? When did you give up on your patients? You're not being a doctor anymore, you're being a warden. You're trying to keep them locked up like prisoners instead of attempting to heal them like patients."

Hazel leaned back in her seat, observing the look of contorted emotion in Jeremiah Arkham's face. She knew she had said just enough to get the ball rolling, if she kept going she'd risk alienating him, but as it was now... He might do the rest of her work for her. After a solid minute, with nothing spoken by either of them, Doctor Arkham stood up. He extended a hand for the file and she handed it back to him, then he made his way to her door. As he opened it and prepared to leave he looked back at her with a disapproving scowl, but the expression didn't seem aimed at her.

"Patient 0422 will require two alternative opinions upon her mental state, one to be conducted by one of your peers, and one to be conducted by an individual outside of this institution. You may select the peer, the outsider will be Dr. Belladonna Hayes, the woman you were hired to replace; she has already agreed to come to Gotham to interview Isley and give her professional opinion upon your patients mental stability. The spring review is in February, if your patient passes both secondary exams and meets the approval of the review board she will be allowed into the spring rehab program... I hope, for the sake of innocent lives, that you are right about your patient, Doctor."

Dr. Arkham left her office, bringing the door closed solidly behind him, muffling the sounds of his footsteps as he walked back down the hall away from her office, leaving Hazel in a state of shock. Belladonna Hayes? Hazel didn't know what to think, she didn't get the impression that anything could make Hayes come back to Gotham, much less get her to enter Arkham again. Was this good or bad? Hayes knew more about the Arkham patients than almost any doctor in the history of the hospital, she conducted ground breaking therapy with Jonathan Crane, Harvey Dent, and Pamela Isley; and she also had tried to convince Hazel to give up on treating Isley. Dr. Birch didn't know whether Hayes imminent arrival was a good thing or a bad one.

She and Hayes seemed to get along well when they met, and Hayes clearly cared about the patients here at Arkham, but would her scorn over power her judgment? Would she be a voice of reason who supported Isley's chance at rehabilitation, or was she coming back to Arkham to once more attempt to stop Hazel's efforts and keep Isley locked away the same as Jeremiah Arkham had been attempting?


	16. Welcome Back

Dr. Birch chose Dr. Elmer Neilson as the peer that would review her patient. Dr. Neilson was an extremely dedicated and intelligent psychiatrist who specialized in personality disorders, making him an ideal doctor for former District Attorney Harvey Dent. Elmer and Harvey got along quite well, actually, and the doctor had even managed to befriend Harvey's crueler half. Two-Face liked the doctor because he was a poker player, and a game that relied so heavily on the luck of the draw was always appealing to him.

Due to Neilson's relationship with Two-Face he also had a unique insight into the mind of Poison Ivy. Isley and Dent had once been an item, before the assault that scarred Dent Isley had used him as she used all men, afterwards... It was hard to say what had happened afterwards. Hazel had only inquired into their relationship to Isley once, and the lewd stories that Pamela provided led Hazel to note in her personal log to never inquire to Pamela and Harvey's relationship ever again.

Elmer, on the other hand, often discussed Isley with Two-face. The cruel half of Harvey Dent's personality seemed to have a sexual fixation on Isley, driven by pure lust, and for a man who so often decided everything by the flip of a coin it was rare to find such dedicated obsessions. Thanks to this intimate knowledge, Elmer was a good candidate to review Pamela, and he was a man, which would be another test of Pamela's change of character... Would she be able to maintain her calm and polite demeanor when it was a male doctor reviewing her instead of a female?

Hazel hoped that Dr. Neilson would get to review Pamela first, and that a fair review from him might push Hayes toward a more favorable review of her patient, but this was a wish not meant to be. On Monday morning, a mere two days after her visit with Dr. Arkham, Dr. Hayes arrived. She was prompt, arriving precisely at seven and immediately going to the front desk to request Dr. Hayes and Dr. Arkham be notified of her presence.

Jeremiah Arkham, of course, already knew she would be arriving this morning, but he had given no such warning to Dr. Birch that Belladonna would be arriving so soon. Hazel felt extremely put off to be forced to so abruptly confront the situation. She went down stairs to meet Dr. Hayes in the main lobby and was stunned by what she saw.

Belladonna Hayes looked like she'd undergone a transformation. The bags under her eyes were gone, the wrinkles in her face had diminished, the streaks of silver in her curly black hair had all disappeared. The aging psychiatrist looked like she'd arrived at Arkham after a weekend at the best spa in New England, her rejuvenated appearance was astounding and only made more remarkable by the crisp, brand new power suit she wore, a brown pencil skirt and blazer offset by a smart beige blouse. She had what looked to be a new pair of glasses, and her eyes were a more vibrant lively green. Perhaps traveling had done her good, but the transformation was almost unnatural.

"D-doctor Hayes?" Hazel stammered in disbelief as she came down the main stair case.

"Dr. Birch, good to see you again. I know it's early, but I recalled that Isley prefers the morning so I thought it best for me to arrive when she'll be in a comfortable state of mind and open to an evaluation." Dr. Hayes began, then she looked Hazel over with a critical eye. "Did you ever see that psychiatrist?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hazel asked, looking bewildered.

"When you visited me I told you to see a psychiatrist, from the looks of it I doubt you took my advice."

Hazel blushed self-consciously, wondering what it was about her appearance that made Dr. Hayes make such an accurate assumption.

"Don't worry about it now, Dr. Birch, that can be handled later. I assume the therapy chamber is still on the third floor?" Dr. Hayes asked as she clipped her guest clearance card to her coat and began to walk towards the stairs with a self-confidence that Hazel had yet to pull up in spite of almost 9 months working at Arkham. Seeing Dr. Hayes operate with such conviction within a place that she had abandoned in the blink of an eye after such a harsh experience with the Scarecrow left Hazel's mind reeling. How could anyone, even a trained psychiatrist like Belladonna, have such strong will and conviction?

Hazel requested the front desk clerk to radio the guards in Max. Sec. to tell Pamela what was happening then she hurried to catch up with Dr. Hayes. She was practically jogging to keep up with the taller woman's strides, her mind turned topsy-turvy by the complete reversal of personality that the other doctor displayed.

"It's all about appearances, Hazel." Belladonna declared, as if she had read the younger woman's mind. "I don't like being here, in fact it makes my skin crawl, but you have insisted on pursuing this fool hardy attempt to rehabilitate Pamela Isley and I'm not about to let her walk out of here on her own if I don't think she's stable. Dr. Crane scared me, it's true, but he also gave me a new appreciation for this place and what it does to help keep the people of Gotham safe. I'm not letting any one of these patients out of these doors without knowing they truly have reformed."

* * *

"All right, Pamela, just remember this is no different from any other evaluation. It's the same thing you went through when you first go here, only this time you're going to get a positive response instead of a negative one!" Hazel said encouragingly as they approached the door to the therapy room.

"Doctor Birch, please, I'm not an infant, I can handle a little interview with another shrink." Pamela replied reassuringly, then she gave a light smile as they reached the door "Besides, it will be nice to see Dr. Hayes again, we all think of her often."

Pamela entered the meeting room and left Hazel outside with the guards. Hazel looked over at Margaret with a thin lipped expression. "That seemed... uncharacteristic."

"What do you mean, doc?" Margaret asked.

Hazel shook her head dismissively. "Nothing, nothing... I'm sure I'm just over thinking things."

"Relax, Dr. Birch." Holly said reassuringly. "Pamela's on the road to recovery, and if anything goes wrong Margaret and I are right outside the door. Just go take a breather, we'll let you know when Dr. Hayes has finished her evaluation."

"All right... Yeah. No reason for me to just stand here waiting." Dr. Birch agreed. "People will start thinking I'm the one who's crazy."

All three women laughed, but as Dr. Birch began to walk back down the hall the two guards exchanged uncertain glances.

* * *

Pamela stepped inside the meeting room and made her way to her usual chair, facing the eastern window where the sun could bathe her body. "Dr. Hayes... It's been ages, I'm so glad they chose you for this evaluation."

"Oh really, Pamela, and why is that?" Dr. Hayes asked, settling back in her chair with a clipboard of questions on her lap and a pen held in her hand.

"Because, Doctor, you're the first person in Arkham to ever truly understand..."

"Understand what?"

"Us, Doctor... You understand **us**. In a way no one else ever has."

"What about Dr. Birch? She seems to believe she understands you quite well."

"Not like you do. You're different." Pamela replied with a smile. "That's why we respected you, and that's why you're here..."

"What do you mean, why I'm here? You know why he spared me?"

"Actually I was referring to why you're here today, but I'm sure Jonathan will be thrilled to hear you remember him so vividly... He says, hi, by the way." Pamela stated, still smiling. "He misses you."

Hayes arched a brow, looking unsettled. "He's... Said that?"

"Please, doctor, we all miss you, none of us wanted to see you go. You're our friend, after all if you weren't you wouldn't have come all the way back here to evaluate me... " the green skinned inmate replied calmly, looking Hazel over with a critical eye. "You look well."

At this Dr. Hayes smiled appreciatively. "I received a letter from a friend, she recommended some special er-"

"Salves and oils from plants to help heal your aging skin, improve the condition of your hair, and bring some life back to those pretty green eyes." Pamela surmised intuitively.

Dr. Hayes stalled, the color draining from her face, but Pamela gave a merry laugh.

"Please, Doctor, it isn't that hard to guess when you can do what I do. I could smell the aloe vera and the mint oil, and at your age one of the best methods to keep your eyes healthy is carotene, which is found in ready supply from a diet strong in carrots." Pamela arced a brow at Belladonna's nervous look and then gave a little laugh. "Relax, I don't get worked up over plants like that anymore.. Carrots are a plentiful crop, they'll regrow, the same can be said for both aloe vera and mint."

Belladonna relaxed visibly, closing her eyes as relief washed over her. Finally she opened her eyes again and wrote something within the note margin of her evaluation form and then checked off the "marked improvement" box regarding the patient's violence.

"Well, you've certainly come a long way from killing people for walking on the grass." Dr. Hayes noted, attempting to keep the meeting friendly and positive with a little humor.

Pamela Isley blinked in confusion. "I never did that. Doing that would be illogical, even I walk on the grass, it's impossible to avoid."

"It.. It was a joke." Belladonna replied, a little surprised. She started writing on the clipboard again. "I'm impressed, Pamela. You're showing much more intuitive cognitive faculties than the last time we met."

Pamela smiled and nodded her approval at the observation. "Well, Dr. Birch has been marvelous; she picked up where you left off and just kept me on the right track."

"She does seem to be talented."

"Indeed; and she's even offered to sponsor my rehabilitation."

"Oh?" Dr. Hayes asked, looking up in surprise. "My, she is confident."

"Yes, yes she is, and I don't want to let her down..." Pamela paused, leaning forward and locking eyes with Dr. Hayes. "So, Belladonna, what exactly do I need to do to get out of here?"

Dr. Hayes blinked again, then lifted her gaze to meet Pamela's. A soothing scent met her nostrils, one of her favorite scents, the scent of olive trees on a summer day, it reminded her of time spent with her family back in Italy. Belladonna relaxed in her chair and gave a contented sigh as Isley leaned closer, a slow smile creeping across her dark green lips like a vine climbing a brick wall.

"Tell me, Doctor. Tell me everything I need to do in order to be approved for the rehabilitation program."

"I'll tell you all I can." Belladonna replied in a soft, tranquil voice.

"Good girl..."


	17. Rehabilitation

Dr. Birch smiled, standing up behind her desk as Dr. Hayes was shown into her office by Holly Madison. The guard and the elder doctor seemed to be in an animated conversation right up until they reached the door.

"Thank you, Holly. And thanks for that letter too; you were right about those products." Belladonna said with a smile as she entered the room.

"My pleasure, Doc!" Holly replied, beaming. "You never looked better." The guard smiled at the two psychiatrists then closed the door, heading back down to the Max. Sec. ward.

Hazel smiled warmly and gestured to the same seat she'd offered to Dr. Arkham just days earlier then sat down behind her desk once more. "Well? What do you think, Doctor? Is my patient a viable candidate for rehabilitation?"

Dr. Hayes didn't respond at first. She gazed thoughtfully at her clip board, reviewing her notes and looking over the list of checked off boxes on the evaluation sheet. Finally she brought her gaze level with Hazel's and gave a slight sigh. "Though I hesitate to admit it, Doctor Birch, I can find no reason to prevent Pamela Isley from entering the rehabilitation program. Dr. Neilson is making his evaluation now, and if it is as acceptable as mine, I believe Dr. Isley will be in the rehab program by spring."

Hazel's eyes lit up with delight at the news. "Thank you so much, Dr. Hayes; I knew you'd see it once you saw her in person! If you had any idea what this means for me, and for **her.**"

"Don't thank me, Dr. Birch." Belladonna advised gravely. "Pamela Isley may be on the road to recovery, but I am starting to grow concerned about your relationship with her. There is supposed to be a level of professionalism between us and our patients. We are mental health physicians providing consultation and support for sick individuals, not girlfriends sharing a pint of ice cream on movie night. There's a fine line that's walked within the halls of Arkham, between the patients and the staff, and I'm starting to think you've slipped over it."

Hazel sat in silence for a few moments, trying to figure out how to respond, or even what to say, to Dr. Hayes declaration. Finally she cleared her throat and shifted her posture in her chair to sit up my authoritatively.

"I assure you, Dr. Hayes, my interest in Pamela Isley is purely for the sake of her recovery."

"Nice as the sentiment is, Doctor, I believe the proper term here is... _bull shit._" the Italian psychiatrist replied. "I've seen this before. Doctor, and you know who I've seen it with. I know Isley's reformation could land you on It List, but this is not a game you're playing. This woman is dangerous... All of these people are. Just because she's sane doesn't mean she's reformed. f you'll recall, I was told how sane she was long before this evaluation."

For a moment both women were silent, thinking about Belladonna's evening conversation with Jonathan Crane, then Dr. Hayes broke the silence by clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses.

"I can find no medical grounds to prevent her acceptance into the rehabilitation program, but—Nh!"

"Dr. Hayes? Belladonna, are you all right?" Hazel asked, leaning forward at the strange noise the other woman had emitted.

"...I'm fine." Belladonna replied, seeming to force the words out with little puffs of breath, as if something was trying to prevent her from speaking.

After a few seconds she regained herself and settled in her chair once more, looking critically at Hazel. "As I was about to say, I think releasing her is a grave mistake. Still... She appears to be socially adept, stable, and mentally sound. There is no reason not to accept her into the program. Now, I've spent as much time in this place as I am willing to spend today. I will be remaining in Gotham over the course of this week, visiting friends and family."

Dr. Hayes reached into her purse and handed Hazel a business card. "If she does anything odd, or strange, anything out of what has become the norm, call me. And by Wednesday I expect to here from you for a personal appointment. If you won't speak with someone else you're damn well going to speak with me. I'm not going to sit by and- Hnh," she gritted her teeth, then forced the rest of her words out through them, "And watch you become the next Harleen Quinzel."

Dr. Hayes stood up then, nodded in farewell and turned, quickly leaving the room with a hand pressed to her temple as she did. Dr. Birch stared after her uncertainly, wondering both about the Doctor's own strange behavior and about her statement; could she be the next Quinzel? Was she that taken in by her patient? No, she wasn't that naïve; she didn't feel sympathy for the things Pamela had done, she didn't believe Pamela was forced into this roll by society the way Harley seemed to think the Joker was. She knew good and well that everything Poison Ivy had done in her life was on her own shoulders, and no one else's. Hazel was not the next Dr. Quinzel, she knew better, she knew what her patient had been, but she also knew her patient had changed for the better.

* * *

One would think that the branch office of the US Marshal's service in Pierre, South Dakota would be a fairly secure and comforting place to be. A large office building filled with law enforcement agents seems like a safe place; right up until you remember that the US Marshal's are responsible for Witness Protection, and many of the witnesses in the program are actually criminals themselves.

On any given day a number of dangerous people can be in the building, and the only reason they're not locked up themselves is because someone more dangerous than them wants them dead. This knowledge often kept Marshal Allison Blake from feeling completely comfortable when she was at work. The only time she did feel completely at ease was when she worked late, when the building was quiet and she could hear people coming from two halls away. When she could hear the elevator when it started up and notice the click of a door being opened or closed. She worked well in the late hours, and she put forth her best effort in silence when their were no distractions.

Tonight she was reviewing the federal crime file on Pamela Lilian Isley. Two days earlier she had been reevaluated by the doctors at Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. They were declaring her mentally stable, and advocating her candidacy into the Arkham rehabilitation program. The idea that a woman as sick as Isley might actually be able to recover gave Allison a certain sense of satisfaction, a pride in knowing that the job she did wasn't a useless one, that there was hope for all people, even the hardened criminals.

Still, what if the Doctors were wrong? Pamela Isley's father was in Witness Protection, directly under her care. The only man on earth who might truly be able to explain how Pamela Isley's mind worked, and he couldn't tell a soul. Every time he had made a public appearance of any sort she'd tried to kill him, three attempts had been made before he was approved for the protection program. He was relocated, renamed, and completely revamped to shed all ties to his former life. Marshal Blake was responsible for his well being, and she couldn't help but wonder: Was it truly safe for Pamela Isley to be released into the rehabilitation program? Was madness truly to blame for the things she had done?

Allison had been on the job for nearly a decade now, and in her experience she'd found that some of the sickest criminals in the world weren't actually insane at all; many of them were completely stable, they were just incredibly sadistic, cruel individuals who had some loftier view of themselves. They considered themselves above, or beyond, society and it's laws. Was Pamela Isley any different? Would a psyche evaluation and bottle of pills really make her stop committing crimes? Allison doubted it. The marshal had seen too many sickos that weren't really sick; she didn't believe a few therapy lessons could reform someone with a track record like Isley's.

As she mused over this, Allison became aware of something nagging at the back of her mind. She set the notification about Isley down on her desk and concentrated on her inner voice, trying to figure out what it was her mind was trying to tell her. Suddenly she became acutely aware of just how quiet the building had become. There was no rumble of an elevator from some other late night worker moving between floors, no distant clicking of shoes on polished tile; she didn't even hear the hum of the florescent lights anymore. The lights! Looking out into the hall she noticed they had actually gone out.

Pulling her gun from her holster she slowly rose from her chair, immediately dropping to a crouch as she moved toward the door to the hall way, peering into the darkened corridors. Who the devil had turned the lights out!? Stealthily the Marshal made her way out of the room and down the corridor toward the light switch. She was so preoccupied in how quiet it was, and how unsettling the building was at night without lights, that she didn't even hear the slight flutter of the cloak.

When she reached the switch and flipped it the lights flickered back to life and she turned to look back down the hall way. Her breath caught in her throat and she tried to lift her gun back up,but he was too fast. She hadn't raised it more than a few inches before his hand lashed out. He hit something in her arm, using just two fingers, and she felt a twinge that ran from her elbow straight to her hand, where her fingers suddenly went limp and the gun fell to the floor with a heavy clatter. The massive cloak billowed around him and beneath it he gave a simple flick of his ankle that sent the gun sliding down the length of the polished tile till it skid to a halt nearly a dozen feet away, near the door to her office.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it while you were busy reading and I was standing behind you." He growled, while behind opaque white lenses she saw his eyes narrow the same way her boss's did when he was annoyed with a rookies screw up. Regardless of whether or not his claim was true or not, the mere idea that he might have been standing behind her the whole time, and the fact that he'd followed her all the way down the hall, made her feel like a rookie all over again.

"...Who are you?" She finally managed, her heart still pounding in his chest.

"You know who I am. You also know why I'm here."

"Isley."

"I need to speak with her father."

The Marshal shook her head at that. "Sorry, I can't do that, not even for you."

His eyes narrowed at that, his weight shifted forward and suddenly his face was mere centimeters from hers. He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin, and read the expression in his eyes.

"I'm **going** to talk Francis Andrews; I am being courteous by offering you the opportunity to be there when I do."

She stared at him for a moment; as if she actually had a chance of winning a stare down against him, of all people. After little more than a few seconds she closed her eyes in resignation. "Let me call him."

"No."

"He needs to-"

"I don't want him _expecting_ this. Let's go."

Allison Blake now began to realize that she had absolutely no control over the situation. It was a very unpleasant feeling, she was used to always being in control. A badge and a gun did a lot for one's self-confidence, and some law enforcement agents get caught up in the power and authority those things bestow upon them. It lifts ones ego high, right up until you're stalked down a corridor, disarmed, reprimanded, and then ordered around like an intern on their fist day. It wasn't pleasant at all, and the only consolation she got out of the whole thing was that he allowed her to retrieve her gun before they left.

* * *

Allison headed out to the parking lot quickly; with the Bat on her heels she felt distinctly like a soul being stalked by the Reaper himself. She was hypersensitive to sound and movement now, her eyes darting around in the darkness. She felt paranoid, as if any moment he'd turn from crime busting vigilante into hellbent murderer ready to rip her apart. Outside of Gotham itself, no one in the normal world knew much about Batman, or his Rogues, she didn't know which stories were true and which ones were just water cooler rumors. What she did know was that she didn't want to find out.

"My car is right over-" She began, but was cut off by a low rumble like a jungle cat waiting to pounce. A soft blue glow from the undercarriage was the only illumination from the vehicle, the lights were kept off to avoid drawing attention and it's sleek, black aerodynamic form hugged low to the street. The scalloped fins over the back, and the tapering fuselage made it look more like a wingless jet than a car, and she was almost surprised that it had wheels instead of hovering. "...Whoa."

The cockpit slid forward, exposing the interior, and he vaulted over the side dropping heavily into the drives seat with a flutter of his cape and a light jostle of his armored uniform.

"Get in." He growled. She did it, without a split seconds hesitation, it wasn't until they roared out of the parking lot well above the speed limit that she finally felt hesitation, and the Pad Thai she had for dinner lurching in her stomach.

"It's a l-left at the first intersectio-"

"I know." He cut off her stammered words, then he handed her a simple gray paper bag with a wax glaze. The same bags airlines kept for air sick passengers. She grasped the bag desperately, as if it would some how magically help her keep her food in her stomach where it belonged. It actually worked until he made the left turn.


	18. Franklin Pierce

Franklin Pierce, the man formerly known as Francis Andrews, was a simple man. Just over the age of 60, he was still a relatively handsome fellow, in good shape, and with a friendly disposition; it was easy to imagine him as quite the catch in his younger days. He had a good job at the Oakland City bank as a branch manager and was currently 14 years sober, after the accident that wrecked his first family, and he now had a good life with his second wife, Julia. She knew very little of his past life, only the need to know facts; their home was as simple as they themselves, a charming three bed, two bath, house of brick, with a back patio and a jacuzzi. They had no children, but were kept company by two cats and a jubilant, friendly Labrador named Chester.

Julia had gone to bed for the night, Chester was sitting at Franklin's feet and began beating his tail when a knock came at the door. Franklin looked up in surprise then glanced at the clock. It was 10 o' clock at night. Their next door neighbors were good friends and often dropped by unannounced but this was awfully late for Bob or Kelly to be calling. A sensible person, Frank opened the side table next to his easy chair and withdrew his .38 revolver. It wasn't a particularly powerful weapon, but it was good for home defense, and it could stop the average intruder in his or her tracks. Keeping the gun in the pocket of his pajama pants and his hand on the handle, he went to the door and opened it. To his surprise, Allison Blake stood on the other side.

"Marshal Blake- Chester, stop that, it's Allison!" Franklin reprimanded to his dog, who was behind him, hunkered low and growling uncharacteristically. "Chester, **sit!**"

"Hey, Frank," Allison greeted with an apologetic smile as he directed his attention back to her after chastising his dog. "I'm sorry, I know it's late, but can we come in?"

"We? Who else is-" Frank went silent, suddenly understanding his dogs unusual growls as his gaze fell upon the infamous profile with the long ear tips and the narrow white lensed eyes

"It's important." Allison surmised, glancing back at her companion.

A few minutes later Blake and Pierce were sitting at opposite sides of the dining table. Their companion remained a silhouette in the shadows of the room, occasionally moving about, glancing around and inspecting things, furniture, wall paper, and family photos. He'd offered them a drink and Allison had asked for water, her compatriot didn't even reply to the offer. Now, as they finally settled into their seats the Batman turned to regard Franklin Piece. The old man's dog was not hunkered down at Frank's feet, with his tail between his legs, staring at the caped crusader as if he were a phantom from the bowels of the abyss. Mr. Pierce reached down and stroked the dog's head, trying not to show just how unnerved he actually was. He felt as if he were staring into the barrel of a gun.

"You may already be aware, Mr. Pierce, that Pamela Isley is being considered for rehabilitation and release." He began, his tone a low gravel, flat and emotionless.

"Pam's being reformed?" He asked, lifting his head, a hopeful tone in his voice.

"We don't know that." Allison interjected. "The doctors hope so, but we can't say for sure. Remember, Frank, this woman has tried to kill you; three times in fact."

"That woman is my daughter, Marshal, and I'm partially responsible for her being in that place." He replied solemnly, looking at Allison with a slightly offended expression.

"Explain." The dark figure growled from the shadows.

Frank glanced up at the order, then he sighed and hung his head. "Michelle and I... We had a good life. A **really** good life. She made a lot of money in her job, and back then I was in accounting for a major firm and- Well, life was easy. But, I was a recovering alcoholic, and staying off the sauce wasn't so easy. I buried myself in work, spent long hours out with friends from AA. We'd go bowling, billiards, jazz clubs, pretty much anything to try and avoid going to the bar for a few beers after work.

As he lifted his head he seemed to have aged several years. New wrinkles seemed to appear upon his skin and his eyes held a deep sadness that voice alone could not express. "It was a mistake. I tried so hard to keep myself clean for my family, but in doing so I neglected them. Michelle grew resentful for it, and Pam- Well, I wasn't there to be a father for her. She had a neglectful dad, and while she was brilliant, she wasn't anything special to look at when she was young. She had bad luck with boys in school, and she was picked on for being a know-it-all and a teacher's pet. Michelle always told her the other kids were jealous, they didn't understand, didn't appreciate her talent; she just kept feeding Pam all this self-indulgent crap and I was too damn stupid to sit up and take notice!"

Allison leaned over at this and rubbed Frank's back gently. "Come on, Frank, it's not your fault this happened... Middle school is a tough time for most any kid."

"Hers didn't have to be this bad, though. I should have been there for her. Finally, Michelle confronted me; she told me if I didn't start spending time with my daughter I might lose her forever... So I did everything I could to make it up to Pammy, but, I just made things worse. I just wanted to make up for it all, so I gave her everything. I helped make sure she got into a private high school. I took her shopping on weekends. I bought her a weekend at a spa before her first day of high school, and bought her a pet-"

"A rabbit?" The dark knight asked abruptly.

Frank looked up, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes- Yes it was a rabbit."

"She spoke of it... though she claimed she got it when she was still a little girl."

"No.. It was a birthday present on her 15 birthday. She loved that rabbit..."

The crusader's eyes narrowed at these words, his head shifting off to the right in thought. "Was it killed?"

"Ou- our neighbors dog." Mr. Pierce answered in a stunned stammer, "But how did you...?"

"She's brought all of this up during her therapy. She's made it extremely difficult to know what is real and what's make believe in her world." The Batman explained, turning his gaze back on Pierce. "You said you bought her things, but, what about other men? Boyfriends."

"Well, like I said, she wasn't anything special when she was younger, but as she grew she blossomed—no pun intended there—she turned into a real beauty as she got into her teens, she was even asked to the junior prom by the football teams lead running back."

"And what did he do for her?"

"Nothing. She turned him down." Pierce replied with a scowl that still seemed to hold some bewildered confusion, even after all these years. "It stunned her mother and I. This guy was perfect, good athlete, great student, I heard he actually graduated valedictorian... But Pamela said she could do better, said she deserved better. Actually, she said she wanted a man who-"

"Worshiped her." the Batman deduced, his tone taking on an icy disapproval. "It makes sense...The way her mother coddled her when you weren't there, and you pampered her once you were... But what happened to change it all, Pierce?"

"I.. I don't know..." Franklin stammered, unnerved once more by the dark clad man's sudden intensity. "It just... It got worse, escalated... She got conceded, full of herself. She'd come home with straight A's and if we didn't heap praise upon her, didn't reward her, she'd lash out."

"Physically?"

"No. Never physically. She'd do other things... Rumors, mostly. She'd let slip a suggestion of infidelity, or criminal behavior, something to get our friends and neighbors talking behind our backs, something to embarrass us."

"Hmm..." The Bat turned away from Isley's father and looked out the window into Mr. Pierce's front yard. A faint twitch of a smile crossed his lips and left just as quickly as he noticed how curiously barren Pierce's yard actually was, the only decorative presence in the yard was a small trio of lawn gnomes along the front walk way; there were no bushes, no trees, no large plant life to be used against him in the event of the unthinkable. Briefly the vigilante wondered whether the Marshal service told Pierce not to have any plants in his yard, or if it was Frank's own intelligence that told him not to provide his would-be killer with any potential assistance. "Mr. Pierce... What led you to start drinking again?"

"How do you know all this!?" Frank exclaimed in shocked astonishment, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Slowly, the Batman turned to face him. His mouth was a grim line, his eyes veiled behind the opaque white lenses, leaving his features void of emotion. This time, however, his tone was lighter and softer, not quite so abrupt and ruthless. "I know that on the night your wife died you were well beyond the legal limit. You had a car accident, it was negligence, nothing you'd planned or wanted to have happen. Michelle Isley was killed, and your daughter left the house just a few months later, immediately after graduating from high school a year early."

For a moment Franklin Pierce, along with his Marshal guardian, seemed visibly perturbed by the depth of Batman's knowledge of his old life. After a few seconds the Bat rolled his shoulders forward and the cloak rustled, seeming to jar the two people from their shocked stupor like a hypnotist snapping his fingers.

"Uhm, well..." Franklin stammered, then his head sagged in returning defeat.

"Frank, you don't have to answer that." Allison said, standing up. The marshal seemed to have regained her nerve. Batman's icy stare didn't make her back down this time. When he looked at her she stared right at him. "I think you've asked Mr. Pierce enough questions for one night."

"No. No, Allison, it's all right. If all this can help determine if Pammy really can be helped then I'll do it." Frank said, looking between the marshal and the vigilante before taking a deep breath. "You have to understand I was- I was not a strong willed man. Actually, I was a door mat, and I think that's why Michelle liked me. She was big on the whole power of women thing, and having a man who would bend over backwards to do what she wanted seemed to make her happy. I never understood why so many people paid so much money for her marriage counseling, she had such a hot streak, she hardly seemed like the right person to be giving other people advice on their love lives."

The bat grunted and Pierce took it as a hint for him to speed up story time.

"Sorry! Anyway, I... Well, Pamela was getting worse. On her 17th birthday we bought her a car, but it was 'unacceptable.' You see, by this point she was really getting into the whole 'Going Green' movement, and she wasn't happy with a sports car that sucked up gas so fast. It was the first time she ever threatened me with physical violence, she didn't do anything, but the threat alone was enough-"

"What was it?"

"Huh?"

The vigilante leaned closed, his eyes locking with elderly mans. "What did she threaten to do..?"

"I- I don't really **know,** Batman, I'm sorry. She didn't threaten like a normal person, it wasn't like 'I'm going to strangle you in your sleep' or 'I'm so mad I could kill you' or anything like that-"

"What. Did. She. Say?" he growled, impatience building in his voice.

Pierce cleared his throat, then flicked his tongue over his dry lips. "She... She said she ought to mulch me."

"Mulch you?" Allison interrupted, looking confused. "What sort of threat is that? **Is** that even a threat, it sounds like she's threatening to make you go fertilize the garden..."

"Coming from Pamela Isley, that most definitely **is** a threat, Marshal Blake." Batman growled, his eyes roaming the room as the wheels in his mind began to turn once more. "But this was still years before Jason Woodrue used her as his guinea pig, long before I would expect her to be using such remarks as threats."

"So why was she using them?" Allison asked, her brow furrowing in growing confusion with each new piece of Frank's story.

"I don't know." the dark knight replied tersely, then his eyes returned to their host. "Go on, Mr. Pierce."

"Well... That was the last straw for me. I told Michelle I wanted to get Pamela help, that she needed therapy.. Michelle... She lost it. She said she was the only therapist Pamela needed, said I didn't know what I was talking about, that I was just an over-bearing fool. Well, I backed off, but I didn't let it go. Over the next few weeks it just kept getting worse, Michelle was just reinforcing Pamela's over-bearing behavior and I... I was too scared to make it happen on my own so I--"

"Needed some liquid courage." Allison voiced, giving Frank an expression of apologetic sympathy as he nodded in agreement with her statement.

"I went to one of my favorite watering holes and had a few. I was surprised, I didn't do the usual drinking myself stupid. I actually kept control of myself, or so I thought... I was only there about 20 minutes, but I had a few stiff drinks while I told the bar tender about the problems back home. He suggested I get Pam and Michelle out of the house, said it would be easier for us all to talk if we were away from the house, none of us standing on our home turf, as it were. I thought it seemed like a good idea." Franklin explained, leaning forward in his seat as he told the final chapter of the saga. "So I got in the car... Drove home just fine, no swerving, no cross lanes, didn't have any trouble. I thought I was okay. So I marched inside and I told them we were all going out to the park. The girls liked it there; it had this little gazebo we always went to on the fourth of July, when Pam was young, and we'd watch the fireworks. I figured we could go there and have a peaceful conversation about our family issues..."

Frank stalled for a moment, a reminiscent smile on his aged face as he remembered happier times for his family, then he sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. "I think- I guess I just hadn't really been hit by the booze yet. When I got back in the car I was still driving okay, but, after a a few miles things started getting more difficult, and Michelle and I were arguing, and it was starting to get foggy... I didn't mean for it to happen. I just- the road was slick, and I couldn't gage the distance."

For a moment he trailed off, unable to continue, his eyes closed and his head drooping. In a rare moment of kindness the vigilante waited, allowing the elderly man to regain himself before continuing. "I don't know what happened... I just remember sound, Michelle yelling in my ear, demanding to know if I'd been drinking, and I lied of course and then... Then Pamela was yelling. Stop. Stop daddy; look out... Last thing I saw was guard rail. We just... We hit it straight on. I woke up in the hospital.. Pam was in the same room... She wouldn't even talk to me. She woke up before I did, found out about Michelle before me... She blamed me; and she had every right to."


	19. Winter

"Quinn." A voice called out, stirring Harley from her sleep abruptly.

"Nyeh!? I didn't order the potatoes..." she stammered as she sat up, her hair falling down in her face so that she was briefly doing an impression of cousin It before she brushed her bangs away and looked around. Holly Madison and Margaret Oak stood at her cell door. For a moment they stared at her and she stared back, then she pointed at the wall between her cell and Ivy's.

"Sorry, you want my neighbor, next house over." She declared, then she lay back down.

"Get up, Harley, Dr. Birch wants to see you." Margaret said, wrapping her nightstick against the reinforced glass.

"Me!?" Harley exclaimed, sitting back up. "Aw come on its..." She stalled here, having no real way of guessing what time it was in the dark halls of Max. Sec. "It's early!"

"It's 11:30 in the morning, Harley." Pamela's calm voice called from the next cell.

"Aaaaaw..." Harley pouted and stood up.

"C'mon, Quinn, we don't want to keep the Doctor waiting." Margaret said, standing next to the door slot. "Put your hands through."

"Really ladies, are handcuffs necessary? Harley can be a good girl, can't you, Harl?" Pam cooed from the next cell.

"Of course I can!" Harley exclaimed, pouting at the two guards. "I was a doctor here too, ya know! It's not like I don't know the rules."

"Then you know why we have to cuff you." Margaret persisted.

Harley sighed and slipped her hands through the slot. "Thanks for tryin', Red." She called out as she stepped back and Holly opened the door, pulling her out of hr cell with a yank that made the blonde squawk in surprise.

"Ladies!" Pam snapped from he chamber. "Be gentle with her, she Is Not. Dangerous."

"Sorry, Pamela." Both guards stated promptly, making Harley eyebrows jump in surprise. The blonde looked between the two guards as Holly's grip on her arm loosened slightly, then she looked over at Pamela's cell.

Harley could just make out Pam in the corner of her cell peering at them through the glass with narrowed eyes, her expression that of a disapproving and over protective mother. Harley smiled at her and puffed a kiss through the air at the redhead, drawing a small smile from Pamela as she responded by kissing her fingertips then pressing them to the glass of her cell as the two guards began escorting Harley down the cell block.

* * *

"Good morning, Harleen."

"Mornin'!" Harley grumped, stalking into the room and slumping into a chair like a petulant child.

Dr. Birch sighed softly and jostled her pen between her fingers. She knew she had to put up with Harley's childish behavior in order to find out what she wanted to know. "I'm hoping you can help me with something."

"Like what?" Harley asked, still sounding 'just rolled out of bed' grouchy.

"I was hoping you could tell me about Pamela.. From your point of view."

"Ooooh, so the Doc's finally getting interested in the Arkham gossip huh!?" Harley exclaimed with a giggle. "Weeeell, I dunno if I should tell you! Might get me in trouble with Red, spilling the beans about her! Heh, Beans! She'd either snicker or slap me for using a veggie pun!"

"I've spoken with Pamela about this meeting already, she's completely comfortable with us having this discussion." Dr. Birch assured Harley with a smile. It was an outright lie, she'd not mentioned a single word of this meeting to Pamela in their last session and didn't plan to bring it up in any future sessions either, she just wanted Harley's cooperation at this point.

"Oooh, well... Okay!"

"Excellent." Dr. Birch smiled again, then paused, thinking about what Harley had said. "Would Pamela really slap you, Harleen?"

"Call me Harley, everyone does! And... I guess it kinda depends." The blonde replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"On what?"

"On how horny she is." Harley replied, giving Dr. Birch a mischievous 'naughty school girl' grin.

"O-oh!" Hazel sputtered, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "S-s-s-so, you and she actually are-"

"What, didja think we were just really, really, really, really, really, really, really, **really** good friends?" Harley asked with a giggle. "I'll admit to start with I wasn't really into the idea. Pammy was nice and all but for awhile I thought've her more like a big sister... Actually I still do a lot of the time, so I suppose technically you could say our relationships slightly incestuous."

Hazel's mind reeled. She was trying to follow what Harley said, but the off the wall woman was very good at leading people in circles until they were too dizzy to keep up with her. It seemed like normal bimbo blonde babbling, but hazel knew better. While it was babble, it was also intentional, an easy method of making someone lower their guard by distracting them with a flood of disjointed, misaligned topics of conversation.

"Harley, slow down please, I'm having trouble keeping up." Dr. Birch declared, interrupting Harley in mid-sentence.

"Oh, sorry doc! Sometimes I get carried away with myself, want me to start over?" '

"Please."

"Okay... Uhmmmmmmmmmm..." Harley dragged the sound out in a long hum, sticking her tongue out between pressed lips and rolling her eyes back in her skull as in a state of deep contemplative thought; as deep as she could get these days anyway.

"You were discussing you and Pamela's sisterly relationship." Hazel prompted cautiously.

"No I wasn't, I was discussing our sexual one!" Harley blurted out abruptly, proving she actually was still quite aware of what she'd been discussing moments before, contrary to the vacant eyed expression she'd been showing.

Dr. Birch sat back in her seat and waited. One thing Harley lacked was patience, eventually she'd start talking again. As predicted, after three minutes of silence Harley heaved a sigh of boredom.

"Red's like Shrek."

"I'm not sure she'd appreciate being compared to a cartoon ogre..."

"Not what I meant, geeze didn't you ever see the movie!?"

"Well, just once.. And it's been quite awhile since that movie came out..."

Harley rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, look, you remember the onion thing?"

"Oh yes! All right, now I think I follow you." Hazel replied, nodding slowly, then she paused. Ir was a plant analogy, she wondered if Harley chose it as an example specifically because of that. "So you're saying Pamela's like an onion?"

"Right-a-roonie! She's got a lotta layers. Each ones a bit different, thicker on the outside, softer on the inside.. But with a bit of a bite to it; and she can make ya cry pretty easily."

"Oh really? Has she ever made you cry..?"

"Gee, Doc, don't you think you're focusing an awful lot on me? I'm not even your patient."

"I'm intrigued by your relationship with Pamela, Harley. You're the only person she's allow to become so close to her."

"Jealous?" Harley asked with a smirk.

Hazel huffed slightly and brushed her bangs back away from her face. "That's absurd, please Harley, let's stay on track."

"Sure, sure... It's all perfectly professional." Harley mused with another giggle. "All right. It's like I said, Ivy's got layers; a whole lot of 'em!"

"Can you be more specific?"

"Well, for starts, she protects people.. a lot more than she'd like folks to think.. First there's me of course, and she's helped Catty out a time or two, and the kids-"

"Kids?" Hazel interrupted, her eyes darting in surprise. "What kids?"

"Ya mean you don't know?!" Harley squealed with excitement. "Ohmigawd, she's worse than Brangelina; one time I saw a whole dozen kids in the park!"

"Harley, slow down, you're going to fast again. What do you mean kids in the park?"

Harley rolled her eyes in annoyance at being asked to slow down yet again. She took a deep breath, then began speaking in an over dramatically slow fashion akin to William Shatner. "Ivy, takes children in, and protects them. In her garden. In the park."

"Robinson park, she takes children there?"

"She doesn't **take** anyone... She won't separate a kid from it's mama, never ever... She'll kill a whole family but she wouldn't separate 'em; never, ever, ever."

"She _would_ have killed a family; she's not like that anymore." Hazel declared, sounding quite convinced with this personal analysis of Ivy's mind.

"Sure, sure." Harley agreed nonchalantly. "Anyway, these kids are all urchins. Regular Charlie Dickens types; most of 'em are runaways... Lotta runaways in Gotham actually. We got a high family abuse rate in this city, don'cha know. Lotta kids run off, some run from family, some run from foster care, some were caught up in the underbelly and finally tried to get away. These types are the ones Red takes. Whole flocks of 'em!"

"And she brings them to her lairs?"

"It's like a regular Peter Pan and the Lost Boys thing she's got goin'. All these little miniature Tarzans, running around plastered with leaves and wearin' loin cloths.. It's kinda funny and creepy all at once."

"Do you know why she does this...?"

"She cares, of course! She cares about the planet, she doesn't hate everybody, just the folks she thinks are beyond help... Me... I like Red, and I like what she stands for. Mr. J doesn't seem to get it; he and Ivy don't get along too well, but I think she's swell! And the kids...? Well, they've all lost out haven't they? No families, no homes... She gives them all that; she can't have 'em herself you know?" At this Harley turned abruptly serious and somber. "She's always talkin' so grateful for what Woodrue did to her.. But she hates him too... He took away the one thing she wanted more than anything."

"So she replaces that desire with surrogates... like you and the children."

"Told ya our relationship was incestuous." Harley said with another burst of amused giggles.

"I suppose you're right." Dr. Birch conceded with a disturbed grimace. "You're like a daughter and a lover all in one for her.. Someone for her to always take care of."

"Yeah..." Harley replied, looking almost wistful. "She really does. She's one of a kind, ya know?"

"I'm beginning to see that yes... So tell me, I know you're already up for parole in the spring. Have you two made any plans?"

Harley gasped at this. "Me an' Red? ... Nah, she's not like that. She's... I dunno. She's not as spontaneous as Mistah J but... Well, sometimes Red needs her space. She's got these moods, especially round now.. winter times nasty for her."

Dr. Birch straightened up, looking more alert at this. "What do you mean, Harley?"

Harley shrugged uncertainly. "Well, I can't rightly say!" She paused, pinning her tongue between her teeth in thought. "It's like... Well, ya gotta think like a plant, ya know? Ivy does that all the time... And when winter comes around, all the plants rest. It's when Red goes her thinking, she doesn't have as many babies to take care of, so she takes some time to think about her next step. Ya can see it when ya watch her, or listen to her."

"How so?"

"Just pay attention, Doc!" Harley snorted.  
"Come on, think about it... When you're in sessions with her, do her eyes wander out towards the trees?" Harley gestured outside at this, grinning at the recognition on Hazel's face. "And when she talks, her voice is all husky, almost sleepy. Makes ya wanna lay down and nap, don't it? It's deep, and sultry and... Mmmmh."

Harley squirmed in her chair. "I wanna melt just thinkin' about it. She's special like that. She has times, and seasons, just like all her plants. Winter is when she gets her thinkin' done. Just you wait, watch her now that it's getting close to spring, you'll see it coming... It's easy to see, I can hear it in her voice already," Harley giggled and shivered with pent up excitement, "I can't wait to find out what she's planned this time!"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **This chapter was a nightmare for me. I rewrote it over and over and I'm still not happy with it, but I knew if I dwelled on it any longer I'd never get past it. I will probably re-write this chapter completely, as I plan to do with several others, once I've finished my initial version of the story. Stay tuned for Chapter 20, I plan to have it up soon._


	20. Professional Jealousy

"So I overheard a couple of the detectives on the way out of the lab when I was on my way over..." Eric confided as he and Hazel sat snuggled up on the couch in her apartment after watching a movie from Netflix.

"...And?" Hazel prompted after her boyfriends pause.

"They were talking about the upcoming parole hearings... Isley's name came up."

Hazel sighed and wriggled out of his gentle embrace. "Eric, we've already been over this several times now..."

"I know, I know!" He sighed and shook his head, then looked at her again. "But, Hazel, come on. Poison Ivy!? People consumed by giant flowers, turned into sexual play things, used as living coin purses until their bank accounts are totally empty. You really think a woman who's done what she's done is going to be able to just go back to society?! Even if she can be reformed there's no way they'll accept it."

"It will be difficult," Hazel conceded, "but they'll accept her."

"How!?"

"Because they **need** her. **We** need her, Eric... Think about it. There's no hero on earth who can do the things she can... World hunger, Ozone depletion, oxygen corruption, all a thing of the past if we can just get her to come back from the darkness."

"Yeah, yeah... you said that before."

"Eric what is going on, you've never reacted this way before now, you never had a problem with the patients I treat or my enthusiasm for their rehabilitation." Hazel exclaimed in exasperation, standing up and walking around the coffee table as if she suddenly felt too confined.

"Well, before I hadn't looked extensively into previous doctor's careers." Eric replied, his voice dropping to a more quiet tone as he spoke.

"What do you mean?" Hazel asked, turning sharply to look at him.

"... Belladonna Hayes stopped by my office today."

Hazel's nostrils flared. The woman she'd initially liked and respected was beginning to become a true thorn in her side. Her teeth gritted as she fought back an impulsive remark and regained her composure. "And what, pray tell, did Dr. Hayes have to say?"

"She said she thinks you're being misled... She's worried about you, Hazel." Eric replied, looking at his girlfriend with concern.

"Sure she is. It doesn't have anything to do with her being spiteful that my alterations to her initial notions have helped lead Pamela Isley down the road to recovery."

"Seriously...? Hazel, seriously, you think this chic would come down from whatever hick town she hided herself away in, just to spite you out of some petty professional jealousy?"

"You can't understand, Eric, you didn't meet her. She was... She was _different_ when I first met her, then I told her my theory on how to help cure Pamela Isley and suddenly she's hell bent on stopping me! If this were just her trying to stop me from releasing a dangerous prisoner into the world she would never have bothered to see me in the first place, she probably would have just tried to talk me out of it over the phone and then refused to see me, that would be expected of a woman who suffered the level of trauma that Doctor Hayes did; but this?" She paused now, looking imploringly at her boyfriend. "...For Christ sake, Eric, you've got a medical degree, you've seen more things than I have in this city, you've got a grip for how peoples minds work, tell me how what she's doing makes any sense at all! First she agrees to see me, then she tells me to stop trying, now this woman who ran to the other side of the country to hide from Arkham Asylum comes flying back in to Gotham just to review _my_ patient!?"

"All right, I will admit it seems odd at first glance.. But you're not considering the whole picture either, this is a woman who went through Hell in that Asylum. I spoke with her face to face, Hazel, I heard her voice, I saw her expression, she is _worried_ about you. Whatever you're doing in there, she thinks it's dangerous enough that she came out of her cave just to try and save you from yourself!"

"Save me from _myself_, what the hell is that supposed to mean, Eric!?"

"For fuck sake, it's an expression, Hazel; I'm just saying you've not exactly been your usual rational self lately! This is.... It just, it seems like your becoming obsessed."

"I just want to help my patient, Eric." Hazel replied, scowling. "Why can't you understand that?"

"I DO understand that, I've seen you when you're trying to help someone with their problems, Hazel And this? This isn't you wanting to help; this isn't even a side of you I've ever known, I don't like it."

"Now you're being melodramatic."

"No." Eric replied, sighing remorsefully. "No, I'm not. This case is eating away at you, changing you... And I don't like the person you're turning into."

For a long moment the lovers stood in uncomfortable silence, staring at each other. Eric looked sadly at the psychiatrist, waiting, hoping that the bitter anger in her eyes would melt away. It didn't, and finally he heaved another heavy sigh.

"I think I'd better go." He said quietly, pulling his jacket up from the back of the chair.

"Yeah. I think that's a good idea." Hazel replied. She watched him making his way out of the living room and to the door.

At the door he paused and looked back at her. "I'll call you..."

"Fine." She replied tersely. He looked imploringly at her for a moment but when she said nothing more he stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. Hazel waited a few minutes, long enough to know he'd have reached the elevator, before she slumped down onto the couch and began to cry.

* * *

**A.N. **Whew! Sorry that took so long to get done folks, Arkham Asylum came out ,and school start back up the exact same week, and I've just been busy, busy, busy all month long. I hope to have chapter 21 up soon.


	21. Therapy

Dr. Birch tabbed the tip of her pen against her writing pad thoughtfully and stared out the window at the grounds of the Asylum. She sighed softly, trying to ignore the droning sound behind her, then she jumped in surprise as something touched her shoulder. Turning around she found herself staring into bright green eyes so close to her own that she gasped in surprise.

Pamela Isley stepped back from the doctor as Hazel regained her composure.

"You've not heard a word I've said, have you...?" her patient asked, sounding mildly irritated but not to unreasonable degree.

Dr. Birch sighed, and put her finger tips to her forehead as she let her skull sag. "I'm sorry, Pamela... I'm preoccupied, I should have postponed our session, I'm of no use to you like this."

"Well, perhaps I can be of help to you, Doctor..."

"No, Pamela, I'm the Doctor, you're the patient; in spite of your progress there is a certain protocol to maintain..." Hazel objected, thought she gave Pamela a grateful smile for the offer.

"It's a boy, isn't it?" Pamela asked, sitting down in her chair once more, ignoring Dr. Birch's objection.

Hazel spluttered in surprise, and blushed slightly. "...How did you-"

A chipper laughed interrupted the psychiatrist's question and Pamela covered her mouth to stifle herself, still chuckling almost silently for a few seconds more. "Doctor, I may be prefer women when it comes to matters of the heart, but remember the majority of the past ten years of my life have been spent making men do my bidding... I know how they work, and I know how they affect normal women."

Dr. Birch sat down again, listening intently. Despite that the conversation seemed like something less professional and more friendly between them, Hazel actually saw it as another insight into the might behind the villainess, the woman who had become a manipulative prima donna before becoming a homicidal eco-terrorist.

"Well," Hazel began, wishing to keep Pamela talking, "we... We had a fight."

"The circle of romantic life. You met, you lust, you love, you fight, you love, you fight, you love again... Or you end it. Which is it with you, are you loving again, or ending it...?"

Hazel paused, her brows furrowing. "I..."

"You don't know yet." Pamela concluded, nodding thoughtfully. "You love this boy, don't you...?"

"I-I do."

"Of course, otherwise having a fight with him wouldn't be bothering you so much. Let me guess... He disagreed with something you did?" Pamela asked, while studying Hazel's face. The doctor didn't know what her expression revealed but the green skinned woman nodded in understanding before speaking again. "Something you're doing then... hm... It's this job isn't it? He doesn't like you spending your days in a mad house with murderers and psychopaths."

"I can't really blame him..." Hazel admitted. "But it's more complicated than that."

"Because what he really dislikes is that you're devoting so much time to me, and because he's scared that you'll be the next Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

Hazel froze. The conversation had spiraled out of control, she was no longer analyzing her patients personal thought process on relationships, it really had become a very personal an intimate conversation, and she was caught off guard by Isley's insight.

"I.. Wha- No. I wouldn't-" Hazel stammered in dumbstruck uncertainty.

"Breath, doctor, it's all right." Pamela said soothingly, giving Hazel a soft smile. "It's likely he simply feels a sense of helplessness at the moment, after all culturally it is the male's responsibility to protect his mate, but you're in a dangerous institution for the criminally insane while he's off at his job each day. He can't protect you when you're here, and that probably bothers him greatly."

Hazel sat in silence, considering this. Could Pamela be right? Could it be that Eric was just feeling scared because he couldn't protect her from Poison Ivy and the other asylum inmates, was it all just a case of sociological compulsion, did he just have an unsatisfied need to protect her from things he viewed as threats to her safety?

"Of course..." Pamela added as a slow after thought, jarring Hazel from her thoughts. "There's always the chance-.. No, nevermind."

"No, what, what is it? There's always the chance of what?" Hazel asked, leaning forward inquisitively, desperate for more of Pamela's insight on her situation with Eric.

"No, it's just over thinking the situation, I'm sure he's just worried about you.."

Hazel sat back again, thinking about didn't comfort her now, it nagged at her, making her wonder if there could be something else that was the driving force behind their argument. She steepled her fingers and closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at Pamela. "All right, that is probably it, but what else _could_ be going on..?"

The green skinned patient was quiet for just a few moments, her expression one of contemplation, gazing out the window at the grounds as she so often did. "Well," she said at last, "it may be that he feels emasculated by you."

"What!?" Hazel objected in sudden out rage. "Why!?"

"Well, it's understandable really," Ivy replied in that same soothing tone, "After all you're becoming a very well known woman. Tell me, how many interview requests have you gotten in the past month?"

Hazel stopped and thought for a moment. "Well, three, but why should that-"

"Hazel, your patient is up for rehabilitation, your patient is a former misanthropic psychopath who is..." She trailed off, her face contorting in grief, "Who is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people..."

"Pamela..." Hazel cooed, finally putting her own issues aside for a moment as she saw her patient beginning to break down. "Pam, that's not you," she exclaimed, gently putting a hand on Isley's shoulder, "Not anymore. You were sick, you couldn't understand your own actions. It's not like that anymore, and we're going to show the world that. When they see all that you can do to help humanity, and your desire to atone for your past crimes, they're going to adore you."

Pamela Isley sighed, giving a solemn nod. "I know... But they still going to hate me, and most of them will never forgive me, and who could blame them? That's why you're having trouble with your lover, Dr. Birch. He looks at me and he sees a dangerous criminal mastermind, not a reformed mental health patient. He sees you spending all this time devoted to me and he gets jealous; most men do. We like to be the center of their world and they like to be the center of ours, and on top of that here you are, becoming more well-known by the day, gaining fame and notoriety, being asked to give interviews... Trust me, any day now the day time talk show requests will start rolling in. You're rehabilitating an internationally famous super villain, people are going to be fascinated by it. Even if, for some reason, they rejected my plea for parole and public rehabilitation you're still going to be famous for putting me into a position where I could even be considered for such a thing."

Pamela sighed at that and shook her head with a sad smile. "Unfortunately, a lot of men just can not _stand_ having a wife or girlfriend who is more successful than they are."

By this point the doctor's head was reeling. She couldn't stand it, didn't want to believe it, but it made so much sense. Ever since she'd begun to believe she could successfully rehabilitate Pamela Isley her boyfriend had been speaking out against her convictions. Could Eric really be that vain, was it all just his insecurity over having a girlfriend who was more successful than he was?

"Now, this boy of yours- Oh, what did you say his name was?" Pamela asked curiously.

"I- I didn't..." Doctor Birch replied absentmindedly, "It's Eric, Eric Walsh."

"Hmm.. And Mr. Walsh isn't in the most lucrative or glamorous of jobs, I bet."

"He's a forensic examiner at the city morgue." Hazel replied with a sigh.

Pamela winced with a gasp. "Ooh dear, well, no wonder he's so angry."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's the least appreciated part of the justice system. The only people who pay attention to his work are TV Producers looking for a new CSI program, and they don't even portray the job properly. The real world hardly gives a nod to the forensics teams, especially here in Gotham where people equate the law with the Batman rather than the Justice System. Here it's Batman, the Police, and the DA's office. Maybe, on a lucky day, Arkham gets portrayed in a good light, but typically this hospital is viewed as the weak link... After all how many times have we all broken out? I've lost count of the number of times I have." Pamela confessed with a shrug. "Now, think of how he feels... The Forensics teams are _never_ given their due, and Arkham rarely us... But here you are getting talked about for reforming a major criminal. No wonder he's jealous."

"Jealous!?" Hazel fumed suddenly. "Jealous, of me!? That arrogant bastard has no right to be jealous of me, Arkham's demonized in this city–hell, it's demonized by the whole country; there are five petitions online I'm aware of at this moment that are demanding Arkham shut it's doors and be replaced by a more 'Capable'," she air quoted the word, "mental health hospital."

"Now, Hazel, don't let this get to you. You're one of the most stable women in this hospital and you're an intelligent doctor, you know how gender bias influence our every day interactions. Men are possessive, status driven individuals, so here is an under appreciated, barely noticed male forensic investigator watching his girlfriend become steadily more respected and talked about do to her work into a dubious and constantly criticized hospital." Pamela explained, giving a slight pout as she looked at her psychiatrist. "It can't be easy for him..."

"Well it hasn't been easy for ME either! It hasn't been easy on **you**, Pamela! _Everyone _is looking at your and I critically, and here he is judging me for trying to do my job right and help my patient? I get enough of that from Jeremiah Arkham and the board of directors, I don't need it from him!" the young psychiatrist declared vehemently, now feeling so outraged that she was going red in the face.

"When you put it that way, it doesn't really seem fair, does it?" Pamela cooed, still with that sympathetic pouting expression.

Dr. Birch huffed angrily without giving further vocal response. Her lips twitched and she glared out the window angrily, fuming over the new thoughts in her head regarding what seemed to be the source of she and Eric's disagreement. It wasn't until Pamela touched her hand that she realized she'd lost track of herself again. Pamela smiled at her and she smiled back as the green skinned woman gently caressed the back of her hand.

"I'm so sorry, Hazel. Dealing with a man's mind is a complex, aggravating thing." Pamela said, holding Hazel's gaze with her vibrant, emerald green eyes. "Unfortunately... We've probably spent too much time. I should probably be taken back to my cell."

"Oh," Hazel murmured languidly, "Yes... Yes, of course. Of course."

For a moment more there was silence, then Pamela cleared her throat, smiling gently at her psychiatrist. "Dr. Birch... I'm going to need my hand back."

"What? Oh!" Hazel let go of Isley's hand, blushing faintly with embarrassment, suddenly aware of just how unprofessional the entire therapy session had been, and how little control she'd held over the situation. She couldn't explain herself, it was as if she just lost track of her own mind when she was around Isley. She didn't know why that was, some little part of her mind told her she should be more aware of it, but she just couldn't seem to bring herself to give it the attention it deserved.


	22. Personal Intent

Dr. Birch came home late that night. She'd stayed at the Asylum till nearly 10 PM analyzing files on her patient, and those she associated with; Hazel found herself more closely analyzing Pamela's relationship with Harleen Quinzel. In her reviews she came to realize a challenge she had not yet anticipated; the two women were both up for rehabilitation review in the spring, they would be released at the same time, and Dr. Birch wasn't sure how they two would react to simultaneous freedom. Might one of them prove to be a negative influence on the other?

These thoughts continued to run through her mind as she approached her apartment down, as she reached it she paused, staring at the ground in front of her door; where a vase of roses sat waiting for her with a card taped to the vase.

_Forgive Me. I love you._

_~Eric_

She sighed softly and crouched down to pick up the vase of roses, then she was struck with a sudden unpleasant thought. These roses would have been beautiful if they still had a chance to flourish, instead they were simply getting a few days preservation, at best, and would wilt and die before her eyes. Perhaps her patients love of plants was rubbing off on her, the realization that he had sent her a set of dying flowers to live their final fleeting moments in her apartment actually left her feeling even angrier than when she had first argued with him.

Fuming, she entered the house and took the flowers to her kitchen. She gently caressed the side of one of the rose bulbs with soft hand and sighed remorsefully.

"I'm sorry, babies... I wish I could help you." she whispered to them.

She left the flowers there and was on her way back to her bedroom when the phone rang. When she answered she recognized the slightly accented voice almost instantly.

"Dr. Birch, this is Dr. Hayes. Have you seen a therapist as I advised?"

Hazel's face contorted in irritation, but then relaxed again. As much as she found Hayes's extreme observation of her irritating, she realized that in this regard Belladonna actually did have a point, she needed to see someone just to certify that she was operating at full mental capacity and was of sound mind to make the judgment to clear Pamela for rehabilitation.

"I have not, Doctor."

"Very well. We will meet tomorrow, there is a Bistro on 4th and Executive near Wayne Tower, can you meet me there at 11:30?"

"Yes, yes I can do that. I'll see you then."

"Very good, good evening, Hazel."

She heard the click of the phone, and found herself surprisingly calmed. For once she didn't feel a contempt toward Hayes. She sat down on her couch then and considered why she had lost this antagonism towards the other doctor, why? She found herself drawn back to Eric, and her conversation with Pamela.. He had opposed her work with her patient before Dr. Hayes had, and had continued to oppose it afterward along with Dr. Hayes even once Belladonna had acknowledged that Hazel's theories were sound.

Could it be that her animosity towards Dr. Hayes was brought on purely by her already being defensive by Eric's opposing her? Was it possible that all of her difficulty and frustration was brought on purely by her recent confrontations with her boyfriend? It wasn't a pleasant thought, she still cared deeply for Eric, but the more she thought about it the more she felt that he was the antagonizing factor that started her down this road of self-doubt and frustration. The realization filled her with a sudden sense of glee. It was as if a barrier in her mind had been lifted, the seeds of doubt she'd had in herself, and her patients ability to complete her rehabilitation.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next day she met Dr. Hayes for lunch, and as she had on the first day she met the older woman, she found herself quite enjoying the elder psychiatrists company. The cold shouldered, judgmental matriarch persona Hazel felt coming off of Hayes seemed to have dropped and she once more sounded like an intelligent, compassionate Doctor who cared about people. She now once more appreciated Belladonna's concern for her as one Psychiatrist fearing that her own downfall could reoccur with this young woman that replaced her.

"So tell me," Dr. Hayes began in a gentle voice, "tell me, do you still feel that you can reach a turning point with Miss Isley?"

"Without a doubt."

"Really? You did not seem so positive when we last spoke. What has changed?"

"She's changed."

"Oh?"

"She helps people, even me. She helps the staff when one of the other rogues starts planning something, she informs the guards when a patient plans an attempted escape, tells the doctors when some one is avoiding taking their medications, and helps her fellow inmates. She has, especially, been helpful with Harleen Quinzel's own upcoming rehabilitation hearing. As you well know, Harleen is a... Rambunctious patient."

"She can be a handful..." Dr. Hayes replied with a nod.

"Well, we've recently started granting Pamela a few hours every other day, when she and Harley are allowed to associate. She keeps Harley stable, almost like a mother in a way, she keeps her in line where as Patient J constantly goaded her to throw all logic and sanity to the wind."

"Interesting. And where do you see yourself in all this, Dr. Birch?"

"How do you mean...?"

"Well, for example... Do you feel you have made a human connection with your patient?"

"Well, of course; how else could I treat her if I couldn't reach the human beneath the green." Hazel replied with a mild smile. Dr. Hayes regarded her critically for a moment and Hazel's smile began to slip, but then the older woman nodded in acceptance of the response and took another spoonful of her soup.

Hazel relaxed once more, and then decided to elaborate further. "For an example, for once she actually helped me with something, instead of vice-versa."

"Oh?"

"Well, I've been having problems at home with my boyfriend... and Pamela is- Well..."

"Experienced, when it comes to men." Belladonna replied in the politest term she could think of.

"Precisely. Anyway, he.. Well, he's been very judgmental lately. On the one hand I can understand it, you have been too, for good reason. I'm dealing with a homicidal psychotic repeat offender, there's good reason to be wary; but, Eric has been beyond protective or cautious. He's been border-line aggressive in his disapproval, to the point that we had begun arguing about it almost every time we saw each other."

"And Miss Isley offered a solution?" Dr. Hayes asked with a curious look.

"Well, more of simply an observation. She noted that a great deal of his anxiety could be coming from a feeling of inferiority." Hazel said, leaning back in her chair thoughtfully as she once more began to consider the circumstance. "It hadn't occurred to me until she brought it to my attention, but it would make sense. He's a-"

"Forensic examiner for the city." Dr. Hayes replied with a nod, chuckling softly at Hazel's surprised expression. "He was still a learning student when I was working at Arkham, I remember Eric Walsh quite well. I made it a point to go down to the morgue and look at the bodies of the victims of my patients. A victim's body can tell you a great deal about the killer, physically as well as socially."

Hazel couldn't hide a certain discomfort with the idea of routinely examining bodies, even with her knowledge of psychiatry and psychology, she'd never understood how Eric could go in day after day, routine examining the evidence from crime scenes and the bodies of victims.

"It sounds gruesome, I know, but it is true. For instance, Pamela Isley exudes a scent of cedar when she is feeling particularly violent... I learned this after noting that every victim she left behind carried the scent upon their body." Belladonna explained. "I also learned to identify when she was accompanied by Harleen Quinzel."

"How?" Dr. Birch asked curiously.

"Mistletoe. The scent of it mingles with cedar whenever Harley has been her accomplice in violent altercations."

Once more Hazel leaned back in her chair and considered the information. She knew that scents were an important thing with Pamela, but the ventilation systems in the meeting room she met Pamela in and the cell she stayed in had prevented her from often noticing such things when working with her patient. Now that it had been brought to her attention she began to realize that, at certain key times, there had been scents she'd subconsciously recognized but hadn't consciously acknowledged.

"Will she make good use of her abilities?"

The sudden question jarred Hazel, she did a double take, blinking rapidly at the other psychiatrist. "I'm sorry?"

"Isley. Do you think she'll make good use of her meta-human power after she recovers?"

"I believe she will. She wants to help the world."

"Does she...? How do you know this?"

"It's all she's even done, the difference is that before she was doing it regardless of what the law said."

"Interesting... So, what is it you think she will do first?"

"Well, the obvious thing she can help with is starvation.. She could help turn wastelands into paradises."

Belladonna nodded slowly, a wry smile curling at the left corner of her lips. "Why on earth would she do that, Hazel...? Has she shown interest in doing so?"

"Well no, but she's shown remorse for her previous actions and wishes to redeem herself."

"So? Think about her personality, Dr. Birch. Even if she is no longer a killer why would she start helping people when she considers them the problem for the planet she cares about?"

"I don't see what this has to do with my work in her rehabilitation." Hazel replied, feeling her temper flare as she spoke.

Belladonna smiled with a quality that seemed almost smug. "Because, Dr. Birch, I want you to be keenly aware of why you're doing what you're doing, and why she's doing what she's doing. What you want to see her do is help humanity, because that is what **you** want to do, isn't it, Doctor? You're a psychiatrist because you wished to help the mentally ill. You're naturally inclined to help others, aren't you?"

"Of course!"

"But she isn't. And my bringing that point to the foreground of this discussion seems to bother you, doesn't it?"

Hazel shifted uncomfortably in her chair, subconsciously picking at the napkin in her lap, clenching and relaxing her jaw. She didn't want to acknowledge it, she didn't want to admit it, but Belladonna had a point, Hazel wanted to see Pamela do something good for humanity with her powers and it did seem that Pamela was unlikely to do so.

"The truth is that Pamela Isley is most likely to go about seeking rebuilding rainforests, rejuvenating crumbling ecosystems and healing woodlands devastated by fire... These things will, by their very nature, help humanity because humanity lives on this planet, and if the planet is healed then humanity benefits; however, she is unlikely to feel any need to do anything to directly aid humanity. Sane or insane, she has never shown a drive to help humanity at any point in her life." Dr. Hayes explained calmly. "I want to ensure that you are aware of just who this woman is, doctor, because I do not believe you have kept a health psychiatric perspective of this patient. You're caught up in what she has done and what she could do, rather than what you are hired and paid to do, to analyze, examine, and hopefully cure the mental illness that affects her personality. Her powers have no direct impact upon her personality, her personality has an affect on how she uses her powers. I believe, doctor, that you are to focused on what she can do once she's released, rather than what she **will** do."


	23. Prisoner Transfer

"Remarkable... And she's caused no problems at all?"

"A perfect patient ever since the incident with the nightshade." Hazel replied to Dr. Neilson's astounded question.

The two psychiatrists stood in the Arkham gardens. Twenty yards away Pamela Isley knelt in the dirt, humming contently to herself while gently pruning an over-burdened marigold bush. Her usual guards, Holly Madison and Margaret Oak, were mere feet away armed with stun batons and at the ready, but they didn't expect to be of much use of Pamela did cause a problem; after all, she was surrounded by her most powerful weapons.

"Absolutely incredible... Here in the garden, she could do anything right now, and here she sits as content as any normal gardener." Elmer replied, looking to Dr. Birch with a smile. "You've really done something phenomenal here, Hazel. You're rehabilitating someone considered to be incurable."

"Patience and persistence, Elmer." She said with a proud smile. "If you'll excuse me, I should get back to her.. This is her first time back into the garden, I need to keep a close eye on how she's responding."

"Of course, of course." Dr. Neilson agreed, smiling encouragingly before stepping away, taking a last look at Pamela Isley with another muttered utterance of "remarkable" as he walked away.

As Hazel made her way over Holly looked warily at her. The guards had voiced concern with allowing Pamela into the Garden, but this was controlled an environment as they could ever hope to get while still exposing Isley to large numbers of plants. They had to know she would be triggered by them once she went back out into the normal world, and this was the best place to test the extent of her psychological recovery.

"Pamela?" Dr. Birch called out, coming to a stop a few feet from her patient and kneeling down to look at her closer to eye level. "How are you doing?"

The green skinned botanist looked up from her work with the marigold and sighed, dusting soil off her fingers as she sat back. "Better than these poor things... They need better care than this. They need a proper gardener who can look after them, if they grow too far too fast they're going to over whelm other species in the garden, and they're going to end up being too large for the nutrient supply in this soil. Really, they can't be expected to thrive in these conditions..."

"Well, now they have you to take care of them, Pamela." Dr. Birch replied with a smile.

"But I won't be here much longer, if everything goes well," Pamela observed shrewdly, "and then who will help the poor dears?"

"I suppose you have a point... Soon you'll have more important things to do with your abilities than taking care of Arkham's marigolds." Hazel acknowledged, taking a thoughtful tone. "Tell me, have you thought any further on what you will do once you get out?"

"Move."

"Oh? Where to?"

"I don't know yet. Somewhere where I can live in peace, without being harassed by people who refuse to accept what I am now."

"So you intend to isolate yourself?"

"Oh, not necessarily isolate myself. I'll probably bring Harley with me," she replied, sinking her spade into the earth deeply while growling angrily, "I can't live her to the clutches of that clown."

"But other than that?"

"Well I can't completely isolate myself, if I did I wouldn't be doing my duty to nature. No, I'll likely stay close at hand, continue to help the world how I can; but I certainly don't wish to spend my life listening to protesters outside my house condemning me for past sins. Yes, I think an Island, or some rural region well outside major cities would do nicely." Pamela explained, raking her fingers through the earth to turn and till the soil.

Hazel's face fell, grateful that Pamela wasn't looking at her as she made a few notes on her writing pad. She leaned against a hearty oak as she wrote, finishing her notes and closing her eyes as she tilted her head up and felt the sunshine on her face. For a few minutes there was silence, then Hazel opened her eyes and looked at her patient to find that Pamela was now sitting by the marigold plant peacefully and looking at the psychiatrist intently.

"You expected more." Pamela said, with a slim but somewhat sad smile.

Hazel returned the sad smile and nodded in admittance. "I admit, I had hoped-"

"That I would step in and save humanity from all it's grievances... There's a certain caped individual who has tried for ages to do the same thing." Pamela observed. "And if you will recall, his attempts were met mostly with animosity and hatred. Humanity is a strange beast, your kind rarely wish to accept free help, even divine intervention.. If Christ stepped down and told you all how to save your entire species, the only people who would listen would be the fundamentalists. Even the general practitioners of Christianity would be unlikely to respond to them. Now how do you think the entire world would respond if a woman who speaks directly to mother nature came forward and tried to help them? The Themysciran Princess has been trying a similar tactic for years and no one is particularly keen to what she and her gods have to say..."

"Well, you do have a point there... But that doesn't mean you couldn't help; after all, Wonder Woman has kept trying."

"Who said I won't help?" Pamela replied with a shrug. "I intend to rebuild forests, to try and heal the ozone, and fruit trees are one of the finest carbon controlling and oxygen producing plants, so there will be a certain increase in food presence on earth simply from my efforts to heal the world itself... It will depend on humanities own capability of whether or not they'll take advantage of this to fix their problems."

Hazel once more found herself jotting down notes. "So you're not still actively against human achievement."

"If I was I wouldn't be being considered for rehabilitation, now would I?" Pamela replied with a chuckle. "No, I bear no further ill will towards humanity, Dr. Birch; I'm just aware of how difficult it is to help humanity when humanity rarely wishes to accept the help of others. Your kind always wish to do it for themselves."

Hazel paused, lifting her eyebrows and looking intently at Pamela. "That's the second time you've conferred to humans as though you aren't a part of them."

"Well I'm not." Isley replied honestly, causing a surprised expression to cross her psychiatrist's face. "It's true, I'm not, we both know it. Besides, when I face that parole board I have to be honest, don't I? They need to see me for who I am, and be able to believe that I can be trusted as I am now, rather than expected to return to the beast I once was. The first step to that is acknowledging that I am not what I once was, in any way. I am no longer Poison Ivy... I am no longer Pamela Isley, either. What I am now is a new breed, I can no longer truly call myself human, and I will no longer be a villain, those two lives have been left behind."

Hazel nodded slowly, writing furiously as she listened to Isley's words. Half her writing now wasn't even for Pamela's therapy, Hazel no longer could find much to do to further improve Pamela's new outlook on life; but what she was learning more from her each day, and she knew it could be useful to other psychiatrists with other patients considered criminally insane. She suspected Pamela knew this, sometimes the pale green woman would simply sit and watch Doctor Birch write with an amused smile on her ruby lips, other times she's do something to entertain herself as she did now, returning to the plants she was tending to in the garden.

"It's what I can feel that sets me apart." the former botanist explained when she heard the scratching of Hazel's pen finally slow. "A human cannot feel the pain of these wondrous beings... I can. I know that the grass I fit on feels pressured from the weight I put upon it as I sit here. I know that the oak tree you lean against feels confined, because it's roots are held in by the thick concrete of Arkham's foundations. I know these marigolds know no common sense of what to do, because they've been left untended, and now their only knowledge is to expand, like conquering Roman's with no thought left in their mind but more, more, more."

"You feel all that?" Dr. Birch asked, with sudden curiosity, distracted away from her psychiatric study by the nature of Isley's meta-human abilities.

"And so much more." Isley acknowledged with a shake of her head. "The flowers, the trees, the shrubs, all of their intermingling roots. It is an insult to great intelligence, and the intelligence of humanity, to call myself human at this point."

Doctor Birch considered this for a moment, contemplating her words as Pamela returned to the Marigold, gently pruning the shrubbery to prevent it from overwhelming and crowing the other plants it shared a flower bed with. Once more patient and doctor lapsed into silence as Hazel quietly observed Isley's reaction to the plants around her.

It was almost like a trainer surrounded by animals. The individual plants all lifting, twisting and swaying as they battled for her attention and care. It was the first time that Hazel ever had a chance to observe Pamela in what could truly be considered her natural environment. The gardens themselves seemed to be enriched by her presence; Hazel saw vines and blossoms rising from the soil, lilies and roses that seemed to have died out mere weeks after their original planting were suddenly springing to life as if divinely resurrected.

Alongside them Pamela Isley seemed to undergo a similar transformation. The chlorokinetic woman's skin was greener, her eyes were brighter, and her limp disheveled red hair was changing before Hazel's eyes, gaining length, shine, volume and most particularly shifting in hue. The soft ginger-red color of a natural red head was becoming as rich and vibrant as a rose.

In this environment Hazel suddenly understood exactly why Isley could so easily manipulate and control others, with or without her pheromones. The woman's natural appearance became almost supernatural with her exposure to plants, a mere smile upon her lips filled Hazel with a warmth and pleasure that she could just barely recognize as not being an entirely natural feeling.

As she processed this she looked over towards the guards, feeling as if she were moving in slow motion. She saw the same rather dreamy smiles upon their faces and she could only imagine how a male doctor or guards would be reacting. All of this came merely from her presence, from what Dr. Birch could tell, Pamela wasn't even intentionally trying to entrance them, she was simply doing what she did naturally and the side-effect of it was seductive charisma so strong that it almost bordered upon genuine magical enchantment.

"Doctor...?"

"Yes, Pam?" Hazel replied, still smiling, though she was now trying to clear her head.

"Harley will be being released at the same time I will be, will she not?"

Finally Hazel's focus returned, the question caught her off guard but it instantly brought her mind back to the point. "If she continues with her current good behavior and continues to display a balanced emotional response, yes... Why do you ask?"

"Because we both know that if she's left alone she'll go back to _him_ or she'll get herself in trouble and find herself back here." Pamela replied with a frown of disapproval. "Harleen is a very sweet woman but she doesn't tend to look before she leaps. If she doesn't have someone to hold her hand during her rehabilitation she's going to be in over her head in no time."

"Well, I must concede she has generally displayed an inability to function stably on her own." Hazel acknowledged with a faint nod. "Do you have a suggestion then?"

"I do." Pamela replied, turning away from the flowers to look at her psychiatrist. "I believe it would be beneficial to both of us to be allowed to transfer out of maximum security, we're both now more than qualified to be removed from Max. Sec. and allowed to more casually interact."

Dr. Birch made a quick note on her board, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, Pamela, that is a rather reasonable response. But before I can make a transfer request I do have to know why."

"Because it would benefit her to have someone to interact with, and to help her remember she won't be alone when she leaves the asylum. Harleen gets lonely easily, and that's what typically does her in and brings her back here." Isley replied, then she paused a moment, lowering her eyes reluctantly before continuing. "And... Because it would benefit me as well. It would.. Be nice to have someone I can interact with regularly before being reintroduced to society."

A bright smile blossomed on Hazel's face at that, it was a huge sign of progress, the very first time that Pamela had shown a desire to personally prepare herself for her rehabilitation. The young psychiatrist was thrilled at this, so much so that the difficulty at arranging the transfer didn't even stay her spirit, she was determined to make Isley's desire a reality.


	24. Ipomoea Alba

It was an icy night. Spring came on slow in the New England, but it came even slower along the great lakes, where the cold winds could keep biting long after the spring solstice. Belladonna Hayes had returned home to Wisconsin after two weeks in Gotham. The aging psychiatrist could only do so much to help the naïve young Doctor Birch, and she had finally allowed her own well being to override her concern for the younger woman.

Back home she once more felt at peace, and as the days passed she simply moved on; if Pamela Isley was going to be released that was all there was to it. Medically Isley had displayed sound mind and cognitive coherence beyond anything Hayes thought possible for a patient at Arkham. Maybe Birch was right, maybe Pamela Isley really could be redeemed. Or maybe... There was the terrifying possibility, the abhorrent notion, that Doctor Jonathan Crane had been right all along.

It was this thought plaguing her mind as she tried to sleep, this thought that mad her jar from her drowsy state, her eyes roaming around her dark bedroom as she suddenly exclaimed, "Whose there!?"

Silence was her only companion. She fumbled for the glasses on her bedside table, finally finding them and putting them on; she almost wish she'd hadn't, the sight she was met with caused her to flinch as if she'd been struck.

"You!"

"Good evening, Doctor."

With a click the bedside table lamp turned on and the woman's eyes settled on the cloaked figure in the corner of the room, only dimly visible under the light of that single lamp.

"What are you doing in my house?"

A single step forward and the rarely seen creature of the night exposed himself to the aging psychiatrist. The cape draped around him completely hid his body from view, it's scalloped ends fall all the way to the floor, rippling out around him like living shadows. "I want your opinion..."

"My opinion?" She asked with a disbelieving huff. "You never wanted it when I was there and working."

"I'm not here to debate occupational ethics, doctor. You cleared Pamela Isley for release... I want to know why. Do you believe she's sane?"

Hayes clucked her tongue, getting out of her bed and pulling on her robe. "That would be debatable by almost anyone save for Dr. Birch, I believe; but I could say the same of you. What passes for 'sane' in the modern world is, in a word, laughable."

Belladonna turned away from him, walking to the balcony window he had entered through, looking out over her backyard, a smile coming to her face in spite of the situation. Down below in her garden her Moon flowers were blooming under the night's full moon.

"I was asked to observe Isley and determine whether she showed enough clarity of mind to be released from the care of Arkham's staff. After conducting my observations I concluded that she does appear to be of sound mind and it is no longer justifiable to hold her in Arkham Asylum... Whether or not she's safe to be around other people? That I cannot say..."

The Dark Knight grunted faintly in acknowledgment before speaking again. "What about Birch?"

"She's a smart woman, but she has the same optimism most young doctors do, no matter what field they're in; she's convinced she can save the world. Perhaps... Perhaps she is right. For all intents and purposes it seems like she's been successful with rehabilitating her patient."

"You just told me you're not sure Isley's safe to be around people."

"I did... But any good psychiatrist is always kept aware of her own biases. People think I fled Gotham because I was scared of the monsters in that place. That is not why I left, Batman... I left because I finally had seen them for what they really are. I left because I could not, in good conscience, say that I was qualified to continue treating those people. If it were up to me none of them would ever be released; indeed, if it were my decision many would be on death row at this point... " She turned back toward the vigilante now, unwavering, unrelenting. She stared him right in the eye with courage that even hardened criminals could rarely find. "You save these people, Batman... You bring them to us, and we treat them until they escape again, then we wait for you to bring them back. Every time, more people die, and yet we still continued the charade. I couldn't bring myself to do it anymore, and one day Batman, you won't be able to either..."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Whew. I know it's been awhile, sorry about that reader's! We're nearing the home stretch though, and now that Christmas break is almost upon us I've got more time to write!_


	25. A Hallmark Moment

A soft sigh echoed through the patient lounge. In this wood paneled room with it's plush maroon carpeting, pictures of the Arkham family and plaques dedicated to Arkham's donation providers such as Thomas and Martha Wayne, it was hard to imagine the place housed some of the most dangerous psychopaths in the United States. This area was for patients nearing the end of their stay, either due to old age rendering them feeble and helpless, or because they were one of the lucky few to be leaving without a body count and a hole in the wall of their cell block.

This was the area that patient's families got to see, away from the rust covered pipes, the peeling paint, chipped tile, and urine soaked cells that housed the truly dangerous and deranged. This was the place where two of Gotham's most notorious villainesses now walked freely amidst other patients and interacted peacefully with Arkham staff. It was astonishing to see, and for many it seemed to good to be true. Patients would give Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley wide birth, staff would move a bit more cautiously in their presence, like deer trying to go unobserved by humans in their woods.

"Gee Red... You know, I'd kill for your hair." Harley said in a library whisper, while she sat on the couch, gently weaving her hands through her friends long, rose red locks, weaving the strands into different styles, braiding, undoing, and redesigning again and again.

Pamela patiently allowed the younger woman to enjoy herself with the various hair styles while the botanist carefully tended to a potted African violet in her lap as she sat on the floor just in front of the couch.

"I'd find that funny if I didn't think you were serious." She said, while snipping a wilted leaf gently from the plant, giving it's healthy leaves gentle strokes with her finger tips like a groomer calming a dog as she trimmed it's nails.

"Hey, all the best jokes are played straight!" Harley replied in a huff. "So what if I am, who gives a hoot?"

"I do. No one should have to die just because you wish you had hair like mine." Pamela replied soothingly.

"Geeze, Red, lighten up will ya...? Cripes you're really serious about this ain'cha you're just gonna give it all up, play it straight the whole way? No big punchline at the end?"

"Harley, there's just four days left before my probation hearing and 6 days till yours; I would think you'd be more concerned with minding what you said in ear shot of others, you wouldn't want to do anything to damage your chances of parole would you? This is our chance to finally live a normal life again. As normal as people like us can be..."

"...Wow. Did you go off your meds or somethin'? That was seriously depressin'."

"Sorry Harl... I guess I just have a lot on my mind." Pamela replied with a sigh, hugging her plant to chest, resulting in the pot pressing against her breasts, pushing them up against the top of her jumpsuit in a valley of pale green cleavage that gained Harley's complete attention for a moment as she sat on her seat above the other woman.

"You know, despite everything some people here have done, a lot of them still get Christmas cards... I didn't get any. I haven't gotten one in 4 years."

"But Pammy you hate cards, rememba? You put Harvey in traction cause he sent'cha a valentine's day card!"

Pamela sighed and leaned her head backwards, dropping it directly into Harley's lap to stare up at her from this upside down position.

"That was before Dr. Birch helped me realize how ridiculously obsessive I had become Harl... I may not like that so many trees die all for some silly holiday greetings, but... It's Christmas Harley, and my father didn't even send me a Christmas card. Even you got a Christmas card."

"Well sure, but I don't put people in the hospital for sendin' 'em Red! S'kinda hard to get up the gumption to send out cards when ya know the gal who gets 'em throws a hissy for it." Harley replied, giving her friend a kind smile.

Pamela sighed again, her plump lips twisting into an unhappy pout. "I suppose... And stop staring at my breasts."

Harley blushed and averted her eyes out the window. "Well... Y'know, I didn't get any cards either, if it help ya any?"

"That just makes it worse." Pamela replied sadly

"Oh... Phooey! C'mon, Red, s'not so bad! Hey at least your old man's a good guy right?" Harley said with a smile, and then a jaded laugh. "What've I got? A crooked old con for daddy! No good fat ass brother... And Poor momma always looking after 'em, and they don't even deserve it. At least your dad's a nice guy right?"

"He was a drunken gambler..." Ivy replied bitterly, but her lips drooped into a reminiscent pout. "But he always put aside a little, he never risked so much as to put us in danger... Mother made plenty of money, he could've pissed away his pay checks and he still didn't. Christmas used to be nice with daddy. It was the one time of year when he'd pay proper attention to us, make us feel like a normal family for just a little while. Just a couple weeks out of the year."

"Gosh, Red... Wish I could say that! Look on the bright side, maybe he'll see ya now that you're gonna get- … Ohmigosh, Pammy, no! Noooo, say it ain't so, Red, say it ain't so!"

"What _are_ you wailing about, Harl!"

"Your old man! Don't tell me all this is cause your daddy issues finally caught up to you!"

Pamela snorted in rather unladylike-like amusement. "Don't be absurd, Harley. I'm doing this because I want out of here... But I'm going out my way, nice and quiet, easy. No fuss, no mess, no bodies... Maybe a quiet little house somewhere in the country, with a big garden." She smiled hopefully. "And if I'm lucky, yes, maybe I'll see him..."

"Aw Red... Ya really think we can do it?"

"What, go straight?"

"Y-huh."

"Do you actually want to?"

"I dunno.. Yeah... Kinda, I guess..."

"Until _he_ shows up on your doorstep with his next crazy plan."

"Ooh no. Not this time. I don't want anything more t'do with Mista' J!"

"Then you can start by getting rid of that stupid pet name for him."

"But what else would I call him?"

"How about Joker? Or Jack? Or Joey, Jerry, Johnny Five-Fingers or any of the other stupid J aliases he's used! Better yet let's try oaf, asshole, chauvinistic pig, oh and lest I forget… Homicidal, abusive, narcissistic bastard!" Pamela said with rising ire in her voice, sitting up and twisting around to look Harley in the eye. "He's a monster, Harley... The sooner you accept that, the closer you are to actually getting out of here for good."

For a long while they sat in silence, Pamela eventually stopped her cold stare and shifted her gaze out the window to look at the first spring buds upon the trees outside. Harley fidgeted with her pigtails, tucking her legs up against herself as her mind wrestled with the tongue-lashing lecture her friend had given her.

"...but where would I go with out him?"

A look of surprise cross Pamela's face at that and she slowly turned her gaze back to Harley. Gently the green skinned goddess rose from her seat on the floor and settled onto the empty couch cushion next to the blonde, her left arm wrapping around Harley's shoulders and her right hand moving to rest gentle atop Harley's right knee.

"You can always count on me Harley, no matter how bad it gets, **I **will never throw you out in the rain."

Harley dared a small smile that Pamela instantly returned. They sat in silence for a moment and then the blonde gave something between a sob of emotion and squeal of joy as she threw her arms around her friend's neck in a vice-like squeeze.

"Oh Red, I love ya so much!"

"Hggk—Sweetie—KAFF—I can't breathe!"

"Oops!"


	26. Visiting Hours

A great deal of red tape surrounds the trial of a criminally insane patient being considered for rehabilitation. Pamela was two-thirds of the way through her share of it. She's passed all the doctor's examinations and reviews, she'd peacefully co-existed with normal patients and hospital staff in the minimum security ward of the hospital for a month, and both she and Harley were being given praise for good behavior and assistance provided to the staff.

All of this, however, was a cake walk. It was the easy part. The hardest aspect of being released on probation was passing the review board. By most patients and prisoners alike who faced such a scenario it was considered one of the most difficult things a person could go through.

Complete strangers would come before you, interrogate you, judge you, and then decide whether or not you would be allowed to join society again. In order to be approved for release the patient needed to be able to prove herself of sound mind and body by way of a face-to-face discussion with these judges.

The board review board held some of the most well known names in Gotham, well known amongst the criminal community at least. Commissioner James Gordon, Mayor Adam Grange, District Attorney Gloria Welsh, Dr. Timothy Roland, and Mr. Bruce Wayne.

The first three members were there on behalf of law enforcement and the people of the city. If one of Arkham's criminal patients was up for release, he had to stand up in front of the very people who had locked him away in the first place. Those three didn't concern her.

James Gordon was a man of the law, an honorable one, and she knew that he would clear her if she could show him that she regretted her previous actions. Mayor Grange was a kindly man but he was a politician not a judge of character (much less sanity), he'd side with Gordon no matter what the Commissioner decided. Gloria Welsh might prove challenging, but even she had shown compassion when it came to seeing the patients at Arkham being cured of their various mental challenges. She would rather see a patient released under the notion of reform than see them break out and cause chaos once more in their criminal guise.

The fourth individual might be more challenging. Doctor Roland was a peer of Dr. Arkham's, he ran a calmer, safer (and according to rumor, far more efficient) mental health clinic up the coast nestled between Metropolis and Gotham. The Blackthorn clinic was not a facility for the criminally insane, but it's doctors were some of the best in the nation outside of Arkham itself and Dr. Roland was the best choice to provide professional opinion on whether a patient truly could be considered 'cured' of insanity.

Finally, there was Bruce Wayne. She couldn't understand it, why on Gaea's green earth was _Bruce Wayne_ on the review board? It boggled Pamela's mind to try and figure out why that bumbling, air-headed playboy was allowed in. Yes, he made donations and yes, the Wayne family grant was what allowed Arkham to become one of the premiere mental hospitals on the east coast, but how did that justify putting this buffoon on the panel that would decide her fate?

Pamela Isley had met Bruce Wayne, he had never appeared to be anything more than a five thousand dollar suit, slicked back hair and a smile that blatantly revealed that the lights were on but no one was home.

He once took a rose from her while she was disguised as a bag lady. The rose was poisoned, naturally, and within moments she had him deep in the green, wrapped around her finger and fawning over her like a school boy crushing on his new teacher.

These thoughts came upon her in a rush as she sat in the visitor's room, a place she'd only been in once before, the very first time she went to Arkham. They never let her have visitors anymore after that, not until now, not until she'd come this close to a legitimate release from the asylum.

"A bag lady of all things! I was young, new to the whole routine, and still he bought it! He got hood-winked by a 26 year old with a moth eaten shawl over her shoulders masquerading as a 70-something homeless woman!" she exclaimed in irritation to her visitor. "All I'd done was avoided washing my hair for five days and stopped drinking anything about three hours earlier so my throat would be dry and my voice raspy. It barely even qualified as a disguise, but he fell for it fully, I had him kissing my feet!"

"Yes, I remember, Pam." her visitor replied, her tone turning disapproving.

"Oh don't take it that way, it was years ago, and at the time I had no idea that you were dating him, much less that you were- Well, you know!"

"Yes, and you had no hesitation to sic him on me like an attack dog when I showed up to stop you."

"How was I supposed to know you were having dinner with him that night? We were all just getting started, and you weren't exactly in the inner circle to begin with. Honestly, it was a simple mistake... Speaking of mistakes, just _what_ did you see in him at the time anyway?"

Her visitor's nose wrinkled in faint irritation for a moment, then she let a soft sigh hiss past her lips. "He's not always like that... It's this facade. He's smarter than he lets on, he runs one of the most powerful business empires in the _world_ Pamela, you don't keep a corporate juggernaut like that afloat without knowing what you're doing."

"You do if you're letting your lackeys do all the actual thinking for you."

Selina Kyle hissed and Pamela withdrew slightly into her chair, waving her hands gingerly. "Down girl. If you really think he's so much more than he seems why don't you tell me how to work him."

"No."

"Selina-a-a-a," Pamela cooed encouragingly, "Come on, it's just a little secret between friends, I won't tell anyone else."

"We aren't _friends_ Pamela. You've tried to _kill me_; let me assure you, you aren't on my Christmas card list these days."

"Don't I know it..." Pamela muttered irritably under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, Selina, I'm grateful you came. I need someone reliable, and you're the best shot I have. Come on, we've made up since those... Misunderstandings. And I'm a new person now! I'm sorry for all that, if I could go back and..." the green goddess trailed off, closing her eyes for a moment and pressing her lips tightly together.

Initially Selina watched incredulously at first, but as seconds ticked by she saw the little glint of light reflecting of moisture forming at the corners of Pam's closed eyes. Behind her dark lips Selina Kyle's teeth clenched in an unseen snarl as she wrestled with her better judgment. There were few rogues she ever saw eye to eye with and Poison Ivy was not one of them, but to see her in a pale orange jumpsuit with a prison I.D. on the back, left breast and right shoulder, hunkered down in a chair with tears in her eyes; this just didn't look like Poison Ivy at all. For once she was talking to Pamela Isley, and no one else, and that realization came as a genuine shock.

"Pam... Pamela, stop.. All right, all right, end the water works; I'm sorry I got snarky. I'm here aren't I? If I wasn't willing to talk I wouldn't have come, so let's talk, why did you send someone to ask me to visit?"

Pamela lifted a hand and wiped the tears away, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "I'm... This is embarrassing Selina, I may be reformed but I'm still- Well, pride has always been an issue for me, hasn't it? I hate to say it, but, I need help."

"That's why you've been in Arkham for over a year, to get help, I'm not sure what I-"

"_After_ Arkham, Selina, I'm going to need help."

Selina's eyes narrowed suspiciously, provoking a hurt expression to cross Pamela's face as the red head vehemently shook her head. "Not what I mean. Nothing illegal, I just... I need a sponsor."

"A what?"

"I need a friend who will agree to keep an eye on me, someone with a clean record, in good standing with the general public."

"You want me, _Me,_ to be your sponsor?" Selina repeated slowly, hoping she'd somehow misheard.

"And Harley's too if you're willing..."

"What!?"

"Selina please, once I'm out I have to show them I can carry a normal life, part of a normal life is normal friends and I need someone I can trust who will support me!" Pamela exclaimed, her voice trembling with a sudden desperation that was reflected just as strongly in her eyes.

For a moment they stared at each other before Selina gave a disgruntled murmur to herself and then nodded. "Fine. But so help me if you two suddenly show up at my pent house unannounced at two in the morning-"

"We won't! It's over, Selina, I'm not doing anything like that anymore. I just want to live a normal life, with people I can trust and count on, and... Well, I know we've had our share of squabbles but you were the first person I thought of."

This slowly brought the thief's attention back to the prisoner sitting across the table from her. "I was the first person you thought of?"

Pamela nodded.

"... Pam, I'm not sure if that's flattering or heart breaking."

"A little of both, I suppose." Pam conceded with a sigh. "It's not like I can look to my family... My mother's dead, my father... He's in witness protection after speaking against me at my own trial, I can't exactly count on him. I don't have any normal friends beside you..."

"What about Harley?"

"She may be up for rehabilitation but she's never going to be normal, Selina, even before J got his claws in her I doubt anyone would call her normal." Pam replied flatly, her eyes now staring solemnly at the table surface, seeming incapable of meeting Selina's gaze anymore.

Another soft sigh from the infamous thief finally brought Pamela's gaze up again.

"What do I need to do, Pam?"

"Just speak with my psychiatrist, Doctor Birch. She'll ask you a few questions about me, make sure you understand what you're agreeing to, explain all the details and things."

"And I have to do this for Harley to?"

"No... But it would mean a lot to me if you did."

"You owe me so much..."

Pam smiled hopefully. "More than I likely will ever be able to repay."

* * *

Normally they would be all over her the moment she walked in the front door. With six cats in the house getting in her own front door was one of the most dangerous things she did each day. Today, however, there were no cats, not even any signs of cats. In any other situation she would have been cautious, set on high alert by the sudden absence of her usual companions, but today she knew why they had gone into hiding.

She walked down the hall and turned, stepping into her living room with a little smirk tugging at her lips. She saw him immediately, standing in the corner, back to the wall like a desperado in a Dodge City saloon.

"They really don't like it when you show up without me home." She declared casually as she entered the room. Behind her a pure black cat emerged from her hiding place and followed the femme fatale through the doorway into the living room with it's tail held high. As Selina sat down on the couch and began to take off her shoes the cat leaped up onto the arm rest then crawled into her lap, interrupting her work.

As if on cue the rest of the pride came out of hiding and the couch was soon over run with her companions. The entire time he watched silently from the corner as she greeted each of them then finished removing her foot wear.

With a single flick of one bare foot the cats scattered to the armrests and back of the couch, providing room for her to stretch out across the cushions in a rather provocative fashion before turning her gaze back to him with a tempting smile.

He ignored the appealing position, and the inviting glance, but he knew she would be quite content to wait him out while doing any number of things to distract him from his job. He would have to speak first if he wanted to get any information.

"How did she strike you?"

Selina laughed. "I'd love to see her try."

He narrowed his eyes in a 'you know what I meant' glare and she gave him a little pout.

"You're no fun." She quipped, then she shrugged her shoulders. "You're right, she seems... Genuine. She wants out. She wants out legitimately. Why, I don't know, but she seems intent on doing it all in a perfectly legal fashion."

"Long cons aren't her style."

"But you think this is one."

He didn't reply. She gave a coy smile, sitting up slowly, which made her deep purple sweater stretch across her chest in a way that would leave most men slack-jawed, drooling on the floor.

"You're incredibly sexy when something you can't answer is bothering you."

"She's up to something."

"And if you don't know what it is yet, you'll figure it out later. Something will tip-you off eventually."

"She asked you to sponsor her?"

"See, you knew she'd ask that, and I sure didn't see that coming."

"You said yes."

"I assumed you were counting on me to do so, so yes, I said yes."

He grunted in approval.

"I can't do much in that position though," she confessed seriously, the playful smile, husky purring tones, and alluring gaze replaced by a solemn expression. "I'm not one of your sidekicks, and I can't put myself into a jeopardizing position with the rogues. They consider me one of them, 'Gotham's old guard' Cobblepot calls us; it's my ace in the hole, the one thing that keeps them from targeting me as a means of getting at you."

"You can take care of yourself."

"Yes. And this is me, taking care of myself. I'll do what I can to help you out, but if I have to choose between a pissed off Batman and a pissed of Poison Ivy? I'd rather take my chances with you."

"And you're hoping that I'm wrong." He concluded. "That Ivy really is gone."

"I'll admit, there's a part of me that would be thrilled to see someone like Pamela be able to break away from this psychosis... To finally be able to reclaim her normal life, to be sane."

"I'm not sure there's any sanity that needs reclaiming." he murmured thoughtfully as he moved toward the balcony doors.

"Whoa, hold on." She exclaimed, rising from the couch after him. "You don't get to disappear on me, handsome... Now what did you mean by that?"

He looked back at her and for a moment they stared at each other in silence. She felt her heart beat increasing with each second that ticked by as she very slowly grew closer and closer to him.

"Talk to me." She said, her voice barely above a whisper, her body almost touching his.

"Be careful... This isn't what it seems."

Before she could grab him he had pulled away. By the time she'd reached the balcony door he'd already vaulted the railing.

She squinted after the black shape as a line fired out and yanked him through the air towards the shadow-veiled side of another skyscraper. With a disapproving cluck of her tongue she stepped back inside, closing the balcony doors and scooping the black cat up in her arms, smiling as it bumped it's hid against the underside of her chin.

"He wouldn't even stick around long enough to reject my invitation to dinner." She said, pouting playfully at her pint-sized pride of friends.


	27. Broken

"Good morning, Pamela."

"Good morning, Doctor." Pam replied, rising slowly from her kneel in the gross. Her arms stretched out behind her like wings and her head tilted back, turning her face toward the sky. For a moment she was a bird ready to take flight as the morning sun bathed her face and body. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It is..." Dr. Birch agreed, glancing up toward the sky, powder blue dotted with long, wispy, white clouds. Spring wasn't quite here, but winter was giving its death throws, something made very clear in the Arkham Gardens.

Since Pamela Isley had been given permission to enter the gardens everything had changed. There wasn't a dead plant in sight, those that hibernated in the winter seemed more like sleeping children than withered plant life. This place was usually as grim and dark in winter as the rest of the Asylum, but now rich meadow grass had spread throughout the yard, and leafy shrubbery grew full and hearty all around. Even the trees, normally gnarled skeletons in winter, remained full and strong, buds already seen on their spindly branches waiting to unfurl in the first days of spring.

"Your mind is else where this morning, Hazel."

"Huh?" Dr. Birch's eyes fluttered as she reeled her thoughts back in, trying to focus on the session. "I'm sorry. I've had a lot going on."

"Don't worry, I understand, you must be rather busy right now. Meeting with Arkham, sponsoring my rehabilitation, meeting with my outside sponsor and with the police... And of course there's Batman."

"How did you know?"

"Doctor, I spent the last few years in a villainous social circle, few know better than us just how the system works. If anyone would be suspicious of such a smooth rehabilitation process it would be Batman, of course he's going to visit you, and knowing him he's likely badgered you too. Let me guess, he's there when you come home from the office at night isn't he?"

Hazel nodded. And Pamela's dark green lips drew into a satisfied smile. "And when you work late, he comes here. Usually around one-thirty to two in the morning, am I right?"

"Always."

"By one in the morning we're tired. It's how the body works, it doesn't matter if you're an insomniac, a sloppy beat cop, or a three time wrestling champ, if it's 1 AM you're tired. It makes it easy for him to sneak in, and even easier to interrogate you. See, if it were 3 or 4 you'd be starting to recover. The hours from midnight to 2:30 are the hardest ones to beat when you're pulling an all-nighter, after that a couple of cups of coffee can keep you functioning till sunrise. If he wants information, the best time to get it is when you're fighting your own desire to sleep, you're too distracted to resist giving him what he needs to know."

"Sometimes I don't even have to say it, sometimes-"

"He figures it out by looking around the room then watching the way your eye twitches." Pamela surmised with a curt nod. "Yes, believe me Hazel, we've all been there."

"We?"

"Your patients, Hazel... No one knows more about him than us."

Dr. Birch's mental wheels began to turn. This was another topic they'd never really had a chance to broach before now, and one she thought she and Pamela ought to cover before Isley was released back into the world.

"So, what do you know about him, Pamela?"

"Probably more than he would like," she confided with a smile, "more than some of the others, for certain."

The green woman laughed softly, shaking her head at some personal thought, causing her luxurious red hair to bounce and sway in a way that made Hazel's eyes follow Isley's ever turn and movement. "The three of us can pick up more than the others-"

"Which three?" Hazel asked quickly, hand now darting into her coat pocket to retrieve her note book and pen.

"Catwoman, Harley, and myself. Women tend to pick up more on little things than men do, as I'm sure you're aware. No one could tell you more than the Cat, but I can tell you a few things," Pamela looked at her therapist with a playful smirk, "If you're interested."

"Of course!" Hazel exclaimed, almost frantically.

Pamela laughed and then moved to one of the Garden benches, sitting down and patting the bench beside her. Hazel came to sit next to her, pen at the ready. Pamela glanced at her and laughed again. "...like a student in her favorite class."

"What?"

"Nothing, you're sweet when I'm talking about something you're fascinated by."

Hazel smiled brightly. She'd never really thought of herself as sweet, friendly or easy-going, but no one had ever called her sweet; it made a nice day nicer. "You were beginning to talk about Batman?"

"Yes, of course, don't worry Hazel I'm not going to leave you wondering." Pamela responded, while leaning back against the bench, stretching her arms across the back of it leisurely. "Let's see, where to start... For one thing, he doesn't like the scent of honeysuckle."

"What? How do you know?"

"His nose tightens under the mask when he smells it, his nostrils narrow, like he's hoping to block the spores out of his nose. His lips tighten too, and those lenses turn to narrow little slits because he's glaring at me from behind them. That's why I used to keep honeysuckle in all my lairs. It was just enough of a distraction to keep him from being able to work at his absolute peak. Such a strong, sweet scent tends to cloud the mind; even more so if you don't like the scent." Pamela sighed softly, shaking her head in lament. "Too bad, it's one of my favorites."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm... We had a honeysuckle crop at home, just outside the back windows. You see, my mother actually grew up in Alabama; much of my childhood was driven by her southern roots. She loved the smell of honey suckle on a summer day." Pamela explained, a reminiscent smile crossing her lips while a sad, hollow longing lingered in her eyes.

"Mother was raised very traditionally. Women were house-wives, meant to tend to the laundry, fix the meals, raise the kids, nothing more. That's what drove her to become such an advocate of women's rights."

"I had no idea..."

"No one does," Pamela replied promptly, "well, except for him probably. He need takes us on without studying us first. I'm sure he knows more about me than I know about him, and we're both uncomfortable with how much we both know."

"What else do you know about him?"

"Hm! Well, I'll tell you this... A man wearing full body armor," she grinned almost lecherously as she fixed her eyes on Hazel again, "gets very uncomfortable when he gets a hard-on."

"Oh my!"

Pamela laughed again while her psychiatrist blushed beet red and fumbled with her pen and paper. "Relax doctor, my goodness I suppose I shouldn't tell you a thing about what he looks like beneath it all."

"You've SEEN him!?" Hazel asked with mounting disbelief.

"Not all of him... Never his face. No matter how strong my hold on him he's never shown me his face. I tried once; he broke my arm."

"He- Why?!" Hazel asked indignantly. "Why would he be so violent about it?"

"Well I was trying to unmask him doctor, and there's nothing more precious to him than keeping his identity secret."

"So he broke your arm. That's unnecessary force."

"He's not a cop, Doctor. Jurisdiction, force, all of that... There's no rules for him except the ones he imposes upon himself. He's sent the Joker back here with 7 broken ribs, a dislocated leg, broken arm, broken nose... Heh, that was the best night's sleep I had in weeks"

"Why?" Hazel sputtered, looking at Pamela in confusion.

"Oh Goddess, don't feel sorry for him, Hazel; don't. Harley does enough of that for the entire world, the moment you start feeling sorry for that disgusting pile of swamp soil I'll be forced to spank you."

Hazel turned her eyes back to her notes while Pamela chuckled, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Why whatever is the matter, Doctor... Do you _want_ me to spank you?"

"No!" Hazel exclaimed in embarrassed protest. "I'm your doctor, Pamela, of course I don't- Why would I!?"

Pamela chuckled and broke eye contact looking out over the garden. "Oh I'm sure I haven't the foggiest idea, doctor. Maybe it's just curiosity... An unsatisfied desire to explore that you didn't sate in college? Maybe you've got a suppressed masochistic tendency you've denied since child hood..."

"Now you're starting to sound like the psychiatrist."

Pamela laughed and looked back at Hazel with a vibrant, engaging smile, while dropping her arm from the back of the bench to resting comfortingly on Hazel's shoulders. "I'm only teasing you, Doctor; but, woman to woman, I can tell it's been too long since someone tended your garden."

Hazel blushed deeper, pushing her hair back away from her face before meeting Pamela's gaze. "Eric has... Well-"

"He didn't come back." Pam deduced with a sympathetic nod. "I'm sorry, Hazel."

"Are you?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Pamela asked in surprise. "Of course I am, I never wished any ill will on your personal life, Doctor. You've sponsored my initial release, you've done more for me than I could ever ask Hazel. I wish I could help make you as happy as you make me... But Hazel, why are you lamenting the loss?"

"What?" Hazel asked, caught off guard, sidetracked by the newly gleaned information that she made Pamela happy.

"This boy, Eric, we've talked about him before, the last time we discussed him you were actually pleased he was gone. He was jealous, manipulative, the typical over-bearing persona of one of Gotham's law enforcement types. They all tend to have it, whether good or corrupt, they have this sense of ownership, of control. That's not what you want, is it? To be with a man who is constantly trying to control you?"

"No... No it's not, but- It's just not that simple. I know I don't want it but I feel..."

"Logic doesn't affect love. You know he wasn't good for you, but you still miss him because you loved him."

"Yes." Hazel admitted with a forlorn sigh. "He wasn't always like this, you know? It wasn't till I started treating you, he claims I started to change. He said I was obsessed with you, obsessed with my new job, but he was the one who really started to change."

"How so?"

"He got distant. It was like my desire to help others somehow put him off."

Pamela Isley gave a little 'mmh' through her lips, nodding thoughtfully. "Simple enough. You were paying more attention to me then you were to him... Last time we speculated that he was jealous of your career; I still think that's true, but what if there was more than that going on? What if he was jealous of the attention you gave me? Perhaps he felt he was being neglected, not receiving your full attention. You brought your work home, didn't you?"

"Well yes, but every psychiatrist at Arkham brings work home. None of us want to spend every waking hour here."

"You needn't justify yourself to me, Hazel, I understand completely; Arkham's a far cry from the happiest place on earth. But was there more than that?"

"What do you mean?"

Pamela stared at Hazel for a moment, and then the Doctor felt her patient's hand sliding from her shoulder to the back of her neck, soft green fingertips tickling her own skin gently right along the base of her hair line.

"Pamela, I'm not-"

"You don't sound convinced," Pamela replied with a smile, "Are you trying to tell me, or yourself?"

Hazel closed her eyes a moment, trying to clear her mind. There was such a lovely scent on the air, roses? Magnolias? No, Lilies. Stargazer lilies, they had such a lovely smell. It made Hazel's heart flutter and a warm smile spread over her lips as she relaxed once more.

"Good girl..." Ivy soothed, fingers stroking along the spine of Hazel's neck beneath the psychiatrist's soft brown hair.


	28. Pammy's Playtime

"Miss Isley, if released, how do you intend to reincorporate yourself into society?"

They'd been at this for almost an hour and a half now, talking with the Arkham doctors, other patients and faculty, and the guards. The parole boardroom was packed with witnesses. The potential release of a major criminal and patient had drawn the attention of interns of both prison and medical facilities state wide, and the eyes of the press from Gotham all the way up to Metropolis.

It was now finally Ivy's turn to speak. When Gordon addressed her Pamela rose from her seat, hand cuffs clanking. Given the prestigious nature of the board's members security had insisted upon handcuffs, despite the fact that she wouldn't need them if she were actually interested in doing harm to the panel of judges before her.

"Commissioner," she began in a a respectful, precise tone that was more in keeping with the brilliant professional of science she had once been, "to be honest with you, if I am released I do not intend to have much at all to do with society. While I no longer feel the contempt for man that I once did, neither do I feel any kinship to humanity. I suppose the best example I can provide you would be to consider a grown child, whose parents are going through a bitter divorce. They wish her to choose sides but she sees the faults from each of them that led to the divorce, and refuses to side with one over the other. In my case, humanity is one parent, my criminal history is the other... And I am left in the middle, wishing to have nothing more to do with either one."

A few skeptical murmurs ran through the crowd of observers, but the faces on parole board remained in passive. Even the foppish billionaire Bruce Wayne, who Pamela still thought was a ludicrous choice for a board member, seemed remarkably intense and scrutinizing as she presented her case. Part of her wanted to just leave; she estimated that at least 85% of the court rooms occupants were male. It would be so easy, a little toss of her hair, a husky sigh that made her breasts stretch against the prison jumpsuit, just a hint of her pheromones and she'd have every man present drooling at her feet like mindless worshipers...It would be so easy.

She pushed the thought out of her mind, easy wasn't her style. If she did everything the easy way she wouldn't even be doing any of this. Easy would be conquering the world through domination of the minds of world leaders. Easy would be holding the modern world ransom by turning peoples own back yards into deadly killers. Easy didn't grab attention, easy didn't send a message. She wanted to be noticed, admired, respected, you didn't get those things through the humdrum antics of the every day villainous egomaniac.

"Miss Isley, you are aware that if you are approved for parole you will still be serving your sentence? While you will be allowed back into civilized society you will require bi-monthly psych evaluations and weekly check-ins with your parole officer. Your house sponsor will also be filing weekly reports on your progress in re-acclimating to society," Dr. Roland, announced, peering at her from over his glasses. He was a handsome older man, with light brown hair slowly turning silver and vibrant grayish-green eyes; a far cry from the gangly, over-bearing, gnarled visage of Jeremiah Arkham to which the Arkham inmates were accustomed to.

"I do, Doctor, and I have no objections; I would be lying if I said that I was completely comfortable with going back out into the world unsupervised. I do not fear for others safety, I have been enlightened to the error of my previous actions, but I am well aware that the world may not be as ready to forgive me as I am to accept it with it's flaws." Pamela replied, keeping constant eye contact with her parole board as she spoke, shifting her gaze from judge to judge to ensure she always kept their attention. "Without someone to look after me, I fear it is I who would be in danger, I know there are a great many people who will never forgive me for the things I have done and I am sure they will be less than thrilled if I am released."

"You say this as if you're incapable of defending yourself." Gloria Welsh, the District Attorney, said, while staring at Pamela with a perfect poker face, void of any emotion or expression.

"I am not incapable of defense, no, but I no longer wish to use my abilities in a way that would bring harm to others. The last time I displayed such hostile intent, I very nearly hurt the closest friends I have in this asylum." Pamela paused, looking over to Dr. Birch sitting at the defendant's table with Pamela's lawyer. She then shifted her gaze to look at Margaret and Holly, the two guards women had always been firm, but they also treated Pamela like a human being; that was a rarity amongst Arkham guards. "Since that incident I have taken a vow of pacifism. I have no intention of ever using my powers, or anything else, to bring harm to another living being."

There was a faint grunt of disbelief from somewhere on the board. She couldn't pinpoint who had made the sound, for a moment she thought it might well have been Wayne but she thought that was rather unlikely.

"So you're a self-proclaimed pacifist now? Even if I were to say that before arriving at Arkham this morning I went out and bought a dozen roses and dropped them by my wife's office on the way here?" Mayor Grange asked, prompting the Commissioner Gordon and D.A. Welsh to both look at him as if he were insane, goading the villainess in such a manner certainly wasn't a good idea.

For a moment the entire room was silent. Margaret and Holly had dropped their hands to their tasers in the event that Pamela actually retaliated to the baited comment. Grange remained calm and collected, gazing down at Pamela from his seat.

For a few seconds Pamela's eyes swept back and forth around the room full of observers, then she lifted her gaze back to the Mayor and gave him a patronizing smile, speaking in a simperingly sweet tone that Bruce Wayne recognized as the sort of "_I'm humoring you because you have something I want_" voice of the many socialites he escorted to charity balls and galas in Gotham's society circuit.

"Well, Mr. Mayor, I would say that you are a horrid liar. My abilities allow me to detect even the most minuet of plant life and there is no trace of pollen or spores anywhere on your body." Pamela explain, still giving him that too-sweet smile before she took a step back and then dropped into her seat. Her lawyer, Rochelle Green, gave her an approving nod and Dr. Birch smiled proudly at her from the other end of the table.

Dr. Roland chuckled while Mayor Grange pressed his lips, causing his mustache to twitch slightly. At the far end of the parole board's table Gordon and Welsh exchanged a private conversation of nods and eye movement. After what felt like an eternity of silent thought from the parole board members Mayor Grange banged his gavel.

"I believe we have heard enough, we'll recess for deliberation, Miss Isley is to be returned to her cell until the hearing resumes."

* * *

Pamela was taken back to her cell in the minimum security wing, there Harley was sitting in wait. The bubbly blonde was quite literally on the edge of her seat, teetering on the very end of Ivy's bottom bunk, staring hopefully at the red head with her eyes wide with excitement.

"Well!?"

Pamela stepped into the cell with a sigh, arms wrapped around herself comfortingly as the cell door shut and Margaret and Holly returned to their normal posts.

"Red!?" Harley leaned forward so far that she looked as if she might fall off the bed onto her face. She was bouncing her feet and had her fingers interlaced, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest. "C'mon red, say somethi- MMPH!?"

The sycophantic lackey to the clown prince went wide eyed, staring at Pamela as the red head caught Harley's face in her hands, lifting her up to her feet and drawing her into a heated kiss. The initial shock melted after a moment, dissolving into eager acceptance of the affection. Harley often didn't know what she was to Pam, a friend, a sister, a lover? The human-plant hybrid was too strange and complex for her to understand most of the time, but she would never turn down the sort of gentle affection Pamela often lavished upon her.

Harley leaned into the kiss, parting her lips and letting Pam's tongue slip into her mouth, teasing her own tongue and exploring the hot confines of that orifice as Harley continued her muffled moan of pleasure. There were few people on earth who experienced such intimacy from Poison Ivy without it resulting in death, but Harley had no fear of her cellmate's kiss. She trusted Red just as much as she trusted her beloved Mr. J; and while her Puddin' might sometimes lose his temper and give her a slap or two Ivy never had. True, once or twice the green skinned beauty had pinned her to a wall and started choking her until she grew close to blacking out, but such moments of aggression were fleeting and were often followed by cooed apologies, accompanied by a soft embrace and gentle caressing hands.

Eventually Pamela pulled out of the kiss Harley gave a disappointed whimper. There was an addictive quality to kissing Isley that no one could resist; even after Isley gave Harley an antidote to the toxins that she so often exuded from her skin there was still something about Pam that was intoxicating, something that made being with her to appealing to resist.

Smiling with childish glee Harley canted her head at her friend, "What was dat for?"

A satisfied smile crawled across Ivy's lips and she dragged her nails down Harley's right cheek, teasing her skin and causing Harley to shiver with renewed excitement as Ivy pulled back further, letting go of the blonde. Harley almost fell over, unaware of how heavily she was leaning into Ivy's touch.

"We're getting out of here, Harl."

"Really!?!" Harley squealed joyously. "F'real!?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"How d'ya know? I mean, even if they let you out..." Harley's cheery smiled dropped into a sullen pout. "There's no guarantee they'll let me go."

Ivy turned back to Harley at that, stepping in close again, pushing Harley back until she was pinned up against the wall. If it were anyone else there would because for alarm, but not for Harley, she smiled up at Isley, blue eyes shining.

"They'll let you go, Harl. I promise."

"How're ya so certain?"

Ivy chuckled, stroking her companion's cheek gently before digging her nails in again, raking at Harley's flesh and causing the blonde to gasp. The green skinned woman smirked, seeming pleased with the intense reactions she could draw from her friend; leaning in again she caught Harley's lips in another kiss, this one was rougher, more invigorating, it made Harley's nipples stand on end beneath her jumpsuit and left her legs so weak she again felt as if she might collapse.

When Ivy broke the kiss this time she didn't step away, but instead coiled her arms around Harley's waist to help make sure the blonde didn't fall over, and even rocked her hips provocatively against Harley's until the nimble young hench-wench was leaning against her cell mate just to stop herself from collapsing to the floor in a heap.

"Harley, we're Gotham's best and brightest, we know more about human minds than any doctor in this god forsaken den of corruption. They'll let you go easier than they will me."

Harley's bright smile grew even larger and she lifted her lithe arms to wrap around Ivy's neck. "And you'll still take me with ya?"

"I'm not going anywhere without you, precious. If not for you I'd have never been able to pull all this off." She caught Harley's bottom lip and gave it a provocative tug. "Besides... The moment we're out of this damned place I'm going to do things to you that will make those pretty pigtails spin."

Harley giggled a little, but blushed a bright scarlet, dropping her gaze as she squirmed in Ivy's embrace. The red head smirked down at the blonde in her sudden embarrassment, seeming to relish the level of control she had over her friend, but rather than act upon the desires she pulled away, placing a soft kiss to Harley's forehead and then releasing her.

"I'm going to lay down... Wake me when the guards return."

As Ivy stepped away and moved to her bed Harley slumped against the wall, chest heaving, cheeks red and lips glistening with saliva from the lip-locking. Her head was spinning, but she still smiled, she didn't even know what she'd done to help so much but she was certainly glad she'd done it.


	29. Theatricality and Deception

Even after all he has done, saving the city, the world, the entire universe, after it all some still say he is nothing but a myth. To some he is too perfect for reality, they think him one of many, an entire corps of men acting as some shadow police force for the Government. Other people say he can't really be human, that he must be some how preternatural in order to do all that he has done. He indulges all these claims, reinforces them whenever and however he can, and helps to foster even more rumors and superstitions in order to keep his enemies guessing.

Only his longest and most enduring foes know the truth. They know he is mere flesh and bone, a mortal, fallible, capable of feeling pain, making mistakes, and having lapses in judgment. Tonight he is convinced he has made a mistake during such a lapse in judgment, and in his rage he targets the scum of his city, to bring them to their knees and remind them that even if one of them escapes ten times that will suffer for the one who flees.

This rage will put four men in Gotham General's emergency room tonight. Not because of Two-Face, Killer Croc, Bane, or any of Gotham's most violent repeat offenders; it is because of a woman, a woman who may be more dangerous than any of his other foes save two. All three of them are subtle, brutish when their ire is stirred, but usually more interested in tact and finesse than brute force. The Joker, The Scarecrow, and Poison Ivy. It is because of her that these four men will be in the hospital tonight; because of her, and because he caught them in the alley, beating a young man to a bloody pulp because he tried to stop them when they started chasing after the blonde who now cowered behind a rusted, piss-stained dumpster.

Three witnesses, none able to truly grasp what they behold. The young man has a concussion, he tastes copper and knows nothing but the ache of pain from broken ribs. His eyes behold only scuffling feet and the flutter of... What is it? Wings. Wings, heavy, black, like leather, but moving, flapping, lashing out, the scalloped tips raking across one of the thugs like razor blades, claws ripping into his flesh.

The woman is too terrified to run. She presses her back to the graffiti tagged wall with tears spilling down her cheeks. Her mascara has run, her eyes burn, her feet ache from running in high heels and her heart pounds so hard she feels as thought it may leap straight out of her chest. She has never known fear like this, and in her fear all she sees is a spirit, a great mass of black cloth, glowing eyes and fiendish claws. A creature which dropped from the night sky like an angel of death, bringing pain and suffering to those which meant her harm.

The third witness is one only the crusader himself is aware of, the thugs and their victims never notice the poor, neglected homeless fellow hunkered down inside an old, rain rotted box, too drunk to even realize what is happening until he hears the snap and the hiss, then sees the great creature soaring up into the sky, leaving the broken and shattered thugs limp on the alley floor while the scared young woman finally pulls herself together enough to scuttle forward and check on her injured would-be rescuer. Just outside the alley lights fall across them and moments later Gotham's finest come charging onto the scene.

* * *

"20 seconds from the time I arrived. Their response time is getting better."

"Whoa, the big man giving the boys in blue a compliment. Wish I could tell Daddy that one." Her voice comes in crystal clear over the comm line, state of the art, he could hear her in a cave on the other side of the world if she opened a channel. In spite of this perfect clarity his only response is a neanderthal-ish grunt.

"Y'know for a snot nose punks you hit those guys pretty hard... The Doctor's in if you need to clear your head, Boss."

Another grunt, this one more animalistic, and it earned him a laugh in return.

"Sorry big guy, but I think Selina and I are the only two women in the whole city that doesn't work on."

"It doesn't work on her either." He grumbled, talking through clenched teeth.

"He speaks! And her who? Ivy?"

Another grunt. The Oracle sighed in his ear. "Boss, you said it yourself, legally she displayed all the signs of a reformed, mentally stable individually, completely prepared and ready to attempt rehabilitation into society."

"She's spent her life deceiving people into believing whatever she wants them to... This is going to smoothly for her. It can't be this easy."

"Can't, or shouldn't?"

He gave an 'go on' grunt.

"Boss, let's face it, you don't like the system. You work with it when you can, and ignore it when you can't, at the end of the day your job is making sure the bad guys get put away... I don't think you're mad because Ivy may have reformed. I think you're mad because she did, and now it looks like she's going to get out, and get to go back to living her life, after all the things she'd done wrong."

Within her operations room in the Gotham Clock Tower Oracle winced. An unpleasant gravelly sound was now raking across the comm line, causing her to grimace and tug her headset away from her ears. "Boss... BOSS!"

"WHAT!?"

"You're grinding your teeth."

* * *

"...When asked what she plans to do now that she had been released Miss Isley said she hopes to one day re-earned her doctorate in botany and, if possible, reunite with her estranged father Francis Andrews, who has not been seen in public since Isley attempted to kill him 4 ½ years ago.

Both Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel have no been out on parole for 5 weeks without incident. According to Isley's psychiatrist, Doctor Hazel Birch, both Isley and Quinzel have been model citizens since their release and the Arkham Institution is optimistic about both womens' chances for full reformation and recovery."

Franklin Pierce clicked off his TV with a weary sigh. The day Pamela was released from Arkham Asylum the U.S. Marshall's service increased their check-ups on Frank and his wife, Julia. He hoped that the extra security was unnecessary, he hoped the pundits and rumor mills were wrong. She had done terrible things, but against the odds, he hoped his daughter really he reformed, and that maybe he really would be able to finally reunite with her on a proper level.


	30. April 22nd

"Stand away from the doors, tasers at ready!" the booming voice of Aaron Cash echoed off the reinforced walls of Maximum Security. All along the wing the emergency doors had been sealed and every guard had weapons at the ready, but this was no emergency, there was no lock down and no cause for panic. This was the standard procedure whenever the patient asked for anyone; full lock down for the rest of Max. Sec. All security personnel armed and at the ready and the entire Asylum on full alert.

The heavy steel security door was ratcheted back first, then the primary cell door was unlocked by the joint efforts of Dr. Arkham and Cash, who both provided finger print scans, ocular scans, and a voice recognition code in order to deactivate the cell alarms. Finally the primary door was opened, revealing the last door, a bullet proof glass view window much like the ones that were used to contain the other patients in the Max. Sec. wing.

Behind the glass he sat, free as a bird, straight jacket balled up under his bum to be used as a cushion, playing cards laid out in front of him in a game of traditional solitaire. The jacket was supposed to be inescapable, and the clown wasn't allowed to have any foreign objects in his cell. Regardless, this was how he always was; jacket off, cards out, usually within thirty seconds of being locked away.

"Mister Cash informs me that you asked to speak with me."

"Aaaw, Jer, you make it sound so formal!" the clown crooned in a croaking, amused tone. "C'mon, we're just a couple'a guys havin' a little talksie!"

He sprang to his bare feet, and rubbed his hands together like a business man about to give a pitch; sensing the diatribe coming Jeremiah Arkham rolled his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back. "All right, Clown, out with it!"

The Joker smiled, or perhaps he was just looking at Arkham straight faced, with that permanent grin on his face it was hard to tell. The gaunt, ashen faced prisoner lifted a hand to speak, then his finger wilted like a flower and confusion crossed his features.

"Er... Out with what?"

"What do you mean what! Out with it!"

"What?"

"What what!"

"Jer, I didn't know you were British!"

Arkham grated his teeth, letting out a growl like irate bulldog. The clown stared at him for a moment, then he grinned.

"Woof."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

"Calm down, Jerry, sheeze, you're going to pop a blood vessel!" J exclaimed, clasping his hands to the top of his head, weaving his fingers through his wild green hair while giving Dr. Arkham a mortified stare.

Arkham took a seething breath, then let it out more calmly. "What is it, that you want, Joker?"

"Right!" Joker cried, as if reminded of a topic of discussion he'd lost track of. "I've got a question, Jer; see, I've been hearing some crrrrraaaaaazy rumors lately—crazy rumors in the crazy house, whoda thunk it, eh—anyhoo; these rumors Jer, they're kind of shocking!"

He crept closer to the glass of his sell, wide eyed, glancing back and forth then looking suspiciously at the guards as if they were trying to find out his secrets.

"I hear," he whispered conspiratorially, "that you let Pamela Isley _out _of this place, of your own free will no less!"

"And?" Arkham replied irritably

"And! What and? There is no and, there should never be an and! Poison Ivy; free, loose, ex-filtrated from the area! I can't make it anymore simpler than that, Jer, and YOU'RE responsible!"

"Miss Isley completed a full medical evaluation, has shown model behavior for months, and has shown considerable remorse for her previous actions; all things you have failed to do on any occasion. If you're upset that she's free and you're no-"

Jeremiah's words were cut off by a chortle hiss that rolled into a long throaty chuckle. "Jealous? Jer, Jer, Jerry-boy! The only thing I'm jealous of is how easily she played you," leaning in close and dropping his voice to a whisper again the Joker locked eyes with Jeremiah Arkham as he spoke, "doesn't it all seem just a touch familiar? Bet it's in the back of your mind, isn't it? Chewing away like a happy little earwig! Hohoo, oh Jerry c'mon man, wake up and smell the Ivy!"

Arkham rolled his eyes and turned away. "I don't have time for this, Joker, I have paper work to do."

With a crash that caused trained guards to flinch in alarm the Joker threw himself against the glass, his body pressed up against the surface like a jumper to pavement after a 30 story fall. "DON'T turn your back on _me_, Jerry; right now I'm the only one on your side."

Arkham slowly turned back to him, his face emotionless, completely unfazed by the psychotic clown's outburst. "Then stop teasing and start talking, clown."

The Joker's permanent grin managed to curl into a brief snarl of disgust at the Doctor's poor since of humor, then he heaved a dramatic sigh and pulled away from the glass. "Fiiiiine... Forget I said anything."

He turned his back to them, looking into his cell and waving a dismissive hand. Arkham sneered and turned on his heel once more, only to be stopped by another outburst.

"It's just," the Joker began in a mournfully melodramatic style befitting of an over-acting Shakespearean, "doesn't it just tug at the old memories... brilliant young psychiatrist, dangerous criminal who appeals to her since of conscience? Now she insists that criminals reformed, changed for the better, ready to help the world!"

The joker whirled around to fave Arkham and the guards once more, provoking the security personnel to grip their stun batons tighter.

"She's stealing my _**bit**_ Jerry."

"Is she now?" Jeremiah replied dubiously. "Is that what upsets you... Or is it that she stole the doctor whom you first used that ploy upon?"

The Joker's expression soured intensely, as though someone were feeding him a whole bag of lemons. With a victorious smirk a chuckle emanated from Dr. Arkham's throat, a laugh worthy of the clown himself. "Yes, yes, I thought so. It must be hard, seeing Ms. Quinzel reform herself and run off with Ms. Isley, leaving you here... with no one to laugh at your pathetic attempts at humor. Well, fear not, Joker. I'll laugh... but it will most likely be at you, rather than with you."

The guards around him were staring at Arkham as if he were as mad as the man locked behind the glass, he had to be to talk to The Joker that way!

The Clown Prince himself was staring too, his eyes boring into the doctor's in silent malcontent, no trace of a real smile on his face, just the sickly permanent grin he wore where ever he went. All of Gotham feared him, even the other Rogue's feared him. The straw stuffed Master of Fear himself would stand aside when the Joker entered a room; but not Jeremiah Arkham. He was one of only two men in the city who could look the Joker in the eye without blinking, who could stare into the face of madness itself and never break into a sweat.

"Good night, Joker." Arkham nodded at Aaron Cash and the guard captain gave a signal to begin resealing the cell as Jeremiah turned and began to walk away.

"Oh JERRY!" The clown called out. This time Arkham kept walking, ignoring the mad man's taunts.

"Jerry, Jerry, quite Contrary, don't you want to know?" Arkham continued walking as the Joker called and shouted after him while the guards began to security checks before resealing the criminal clown's cell.

"Jer... What day was it?"

Dr. Arkham finally paused. He didn't turn around, but he had stopped moving. The Joker grinned again, looking at Cash through the glass. The guard captain glowered back at him but held up a hand for his men to pause the check.

"Think about, Jer... What day was it? What day... was she released?"

"April 22nd." Arkham replied tersely, finally glancing back over his shoulder to glare at the Joker out of his peripheral vision. "So _what_?"

"Weeeeell, I Don't know." the clown prince replied with a cheeky smile and a simpleton's shrug. "Maybe you should ask the Calendar man...Eheh.. hehe.. Hehehahahahaaaa!"

With a dismissive flick of his wrist towards Cash the doctor continued down the hall and the guards resumed the process of re-securing Joker's cell.

* * *

Arkham stalked the halls of his hospital the way the Crusader would stalk the city's rooftops. His coat fluttered at his ankle's as the Knight's cape would and the glares he gave anyone who dared look at him could of rivaled the Bat's own. Even when he reached the privacy of his office and slammed the door shut his foul temper remained. Each step through the room was like a predator's, prowling to his desk to paw through the papers, casting aside reports, observations, forms and recommendations as he sought out his quarry.

With a victorious huff he finally yanked his daily planner out from under the heap of papers over flowing across his desk. With fingers flying he jumped back through the past few weeks until he found Isley's release date. April 22nd; it was Earth Day.


	31. Search Warrant

The banging upon the door roused her at 6 a.m. Normally she would already be up, but living with Harley outside of cells was always challenging, Harley's sleep "pattern" depended completely upon how much caffeine and sugar the blonde had consumed that day, and would dictate how long her sugar-crash induced slumber lasted the next morning.

The only sound she heard from Harley's room as she passed by was a mumbled "I love you too, Puddin'." that made her lip curl in disgust as she rounded the corner in the hall and came to the front door.

The house was a simple little 2 bedroom, 1 bath affair on the outskirts of Gotham. It was cheap and poorly furnished, but it had running water, electricity, and air conditioning; a serviceable place to make a fresh start, or so she thought before she peered out the side window by the door and saw the unpleasant sight on her front step.

The door creaked open, she needed to oil those hinges, "Detective Bullock... Something I can do for you?"

Bullock looked at her suspiciously for a moment without a word, his tooth pick shifting from the right side of his mouth to the left with a slight twitch of his clenched jaw. Bullock was bear of a man. Many a Gotham thug and even some of the GCPD's finest dismissed him as an over-weight, past-his-prime desk jockey; they didn't know that under his sloppy appearance there was a rather keen deductive mind, and that behind his doughnut built paunch he was a true bruiser. His massive hands and arms, thick as tree trunks, could easily knock the sense out of anyone who came across him the wrong way.

He was slow and lumbering, but like any tortoise he could surprise even the fastest of crooks, his unexpected intelligence and a preference for a .357 rather than the standard glock sidearm carried by most police officers, made him one of the more meddlesome and irritating cops on the force; at least, as far as the Rogue's were concerned.

"We got a warrant to search yer place." He said at last, grinding out the words through clenched teeth. The rough edge in his voice seemed to cut into Pamela's mind like a well-sharpened pruning shear, slicing away her idle musings about the detective and bringing her back to reality.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, eyelids fluttering in surprise.

"Your place." He stuffed a piece of paper into her hands. "We're searchin' it." He gave a sharp whistle and from the drive way just out of sight came a row of police men and women, trooping past a bewildered Pamela Isley and into her house.

"Search every inch, pull up the damn carpet if you gotta, I don't wanna have to make a second trip out here folks!" Bullock's barking voice instructed with booming finality as Isley numbly stepped back from the door, watching the police officers in shocked disbelief as they began to quite literally tear apart the measly excuse for a home.

In any other city in the world getting a search warrant was an officer's nightmare, but here, in Gotham all it took was a hunch by one of the cities top psychologists, a little greasing of the wheels by the DA to speed up the paper-work and give the GCPD the clearance they needed.

As the police began their search Harley came scrambling out of her room squealing like a piglet, wearing nothing but a pair of diamond bedazzled panties and a bright red baby doll tee. "Red, Red, there's somebody in the house, there's somebod- Ooooh HI Bully!"

Harley threw her lithe arms around the surprised Detective, who quickly shoved her away with a grumble. "Get off'a me, Quinn!"

"Aaaaw, why ya gotta be like dat Bully, we never spend any time togeth'a anymore!"

"Stow it, we're here on police business!"

"Oooh Police Business!" Harley puffed out her chest, and her cheeks, in a mockery of Bullock's frame and bulk. "What sort'a busin- Hey whaddya doin' to our house!"

Bullock stared at her for a moment. It was hard to tell whether he was thinking, or if his brain had just shut down for the final time, leaving him little more than a brain-dead animal. Finally he blinked his beady eyes and then exclaimed in a rumble just beneath roaring, "We're searchin' it, whaddya think!"

"But we didn't do nothin'!"

"Maybe YOU didn't!" He fired back, then he cut his eyes suspiciously to Pamela. Harley followed his gaze, blinking in bewilderment before the dots finally connected in her mind. "Hey wait'a sec, Red's been here with me all night she didn't do nothin' either!"

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, lemme right dat up then!" Bullock pulled out his notebook, then mimed writing upon it while mumbling loudly. "Ex-con vouches suspect, says she's _innocent_!"He dragged out the final word as if it were a foreign expulsion unwelcome upon his tongue.

"Hey, look Red, he's got one of those invisible pencils just like mine!"

The explanation from Harley stopped the wheels in the detective's head. Pamela could almost hear the gears grinding at the frantic shouts of mental engineers as they tried to figure out why they'd lost power. Harley Quinn was one of the only people in Gotham who could throw a curve ball so wild that even the best people on the force would be left with their jaws flapping noiselessly in the wind, scrunching up their faces and scratching their heads in a vague attempt to understand.

As Bullock tried to recover from Harley's mind-numbing statement Pamela pounced upon her opportunity.

"Might I ask why the accusations against me are, Detective?"

"Conspiracy!" He replied sharply.

"Conspiracy to what, exactly?"

There was a long pause. The confused expression returned as Bullock lifted a thick hand and rubbed his greasy face as though to wipe away the disoriented feeling that had laid claim to his brain. It was all Pamela needed, they had nothing, this was probably an effort brought on by the suspicions of the DA or Dr. Arkham. It wouldn't be difficult, she was a paroled felon, they required very little provocation to initiate a search of her property. All she could do was wait, she'd done nothing wrong, they'd tear the place apart trying to prove she had, but she was innocent and she was patient.

She never lost her temper, even when they uprooted her house plants, even when Harley burst into tears because they sliced open her stuffed animals to check inside them. She waited, like a house cat beneath a bird bath she waited. Finally the police concluded their work, a few last vague probing questions intended more to try and provoke Pamela than get actual information from her, and then they were gone.

Pam shut the door when they left, then turned and walked down the hall. She found Harley standing in her room with her bottom lip hanging out in a massive, dramatic pout. The bed had been stripped bare to check in and under the mattress, the stuffed animals had been sliced open, the closet had been emptied, the pictures had been taken off the walls. She sighed as Pam came up next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"We didn't even do anythin' wrong." She whispered in a pathetic sulk, lifting her pretty blue eyes to look up at her friend.

"I know, Harl. You know how they are, this was bound to happen sooner or later. At least it's out of the way now."

"I guess so..."

"Thatta girl," Pamela cooed consolingly as she hugged the blonde. "Now, pack your things, we're leaving."

"Wha-! Leavin' for where!"

"I have a friend who said that if things didn't work out here she would sponsor us."

"Huh!" Harley exclaimed, slapping her hands onto her hips and squinting at her friend. "Who in their right mind would do that for us?"

Pamela paused at the door and glanced back over her shoulder with a sly smirk. "Selina."

Harley was still shouting at her by the time she got to the end of the hall and entered her own room. The three of them had an on-again off-again love-hate relationship. Sometimes they could be the best of friends, other times they'd attempted to kill each other. None of the other Rogue's ever knew what side Catwoman would settle on, but they could always trust that if Batman got involved Catwoman would quickly become a liability to any villain's best laid plans. Judging by the pitch of Harley's screams she couldn't fathom any sort of benefit to their staying under the same roof with Gotham's infamous feline fatale.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry this one took so long folks, I've been swamped preparing to the return to college and decided to just hold off on writing until I had enough free time to type up this chapter without feeling frenzied or forced. Stick with me, the end is drawing near. ;)


	32. Roses and Chocolates

"They're there now?"

"As we speak."

A grunt. How could one sound cause such a stir in her? She couldn't even explain it, even when he turned monosyllabic he was still..._Meow._ Catwoman ran her tongue across her lips. She couldn't even see him and she wanted him. She knew she had the same effect on him, all she had to do was purr into the comm and he'd go silent for a full minute before he'd remember that he was on the job and had a mission to accomplish. It was tempting to do it, but the presence of a murderer and her sycophantic BFF three stories below kept her from distracting him. She wanted this over as much as he did.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Watch them."

"That's it?"

"For now."

She sighed, pouting, disappointed that he wouldn't even give her a little hint into what he had in store. "You really think they're up to something, Br-"

"Yes."

"But it doesn't make any sense. Why now? Why go to all this trouble?"

"I don't know, and that's what bothers me."

"So, stick to the plan then?"

Another grunt. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "Fine. But if my loft gets overgrown by flesh eating fungi, you're paying the repair bills."

He grunted again, then the line went dead. Selina sighed and brushed her hair back away from her eyes as a gust of spring wind whipped across the roof top.

* * *

Hazel's fingers were aching when she got home. She had spent the whole day writing reports, as she had the past two days. Reports by pen, reports by keyboard, reports in the corner margins of superior's report requests; she was beginning to consider that if it went on much longer she would have to consider a career in costumed villainy, with a nice name like "The Paper Hater."

As she entered she was surprised to find how cold she had left her apartment, she didn't remember putting the thermostat to 70. She adjusted it up to a more comfortable temperature then put away her purse and keys. Finally, burdens handled, she began to make her way into her living room, dragging her scrunchie out of her hair in the process. She gave her head a toss to untangle her long brown hair, then gave the scrunchie a toss as well, not much caring where it landed at the moment.

"You always did look better with her hair down."

The voice made her jump, but from surprise rather than fright. She spun towards it, eyebrows jumping and eyes widening.

"Eric! Wha... What's all this?"

Her boyfriend stood in the middle of the room, a box of chocolates under her left arm and a bouquet of roses in the opposite hand.

"This? This is my 'Sorry I am such such a jerk' apology moment." he replied, smiling at her as he stepped forward, holding out the roses first.

Hazel took them in her arms, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of her lips. In the back of her mind, she briefly wished that he hadn't killed innocent plants in an attempt to tell her he was sorry. This was the sort of thing Pamela, the old Pamela, would have strangled a man for, but, given the circumstances it really was sweet. She put aside the brief displeasure, deciding to simply enjoy the gesture, taking the roses in her arms and breathing in their rich scent.

Next came the chocolates, and then a strong hug from him. He leaned in against her body and held her form to his in return, his head bowed, breathing in the scent of her sandalwood body wash. He had missed this scent, he had missed holding her, he had even missed worrying himself sick of the thought of her up there in that abysmal Asylum working with a bunch of dangerous low-lifes.

"I was dumb, Haze; really dumb. Please, will ya please forgive me? I'll do anything, I'll get you more flowers, I'll send you chocolates everyday, I'll learn to sky write just so I can-!"

"Sh, shh shh." She held two fingers up against his lips to stop him, smiling up at him in the process. "Eric... Eric you stupid boy, I was never mad at you in the first place. It was... It was just an argument, a rough patch. We've both gotten through it, right?"

He needed quickly, smiling happily at her. "Yeah. I'm sorry I wasn't more understanding. I get it now, I Really do. I was watching a news report about Pois- About Miss Isley. She really, she seems different. She's nothing like the lunatic I'd seen on news footage before, you really did get through to her. I understand now, I get why it meant so much to you, and I'm so sorry I wasn't more supportive."

The young doctor almost felt like she was going to cry, she had force herself not to, the last thing she wanted right now was the dreadful look of runny mascara on her cheeks. Still smiling she leaned up and kissed her boyfriend's lips, her hands framing his face as she gazed upon him with renewed adoration.

"I missed you too. I missed you so much, I'd come home at night and the apartment would just feel so empty. I missed coming in to find you had put the thermostat to some ungodly cold temperature, I missed finding you asleep on the couch watching a CSI rerun, I even missed the undercooked and long cold spaghetti you'd cook for me on late nights." She laughed softly as she leaned in close, hugging him tightly, worried that if she let go she might find it was all a dream.

Eric laughed along with her, returning her embrace and kissing the top of her head. For a few minutes they remained like that, arms entwined and eyes cold, savoring closeness. After awhile he reluctantly pulled away, giving her an apologetic smile. "I wish I could stay, but I've got work to do tonight."

Hazel's smile wilted at the idea of her loving boy cooped up in that cold coroner's office late at night. "Can't it wait till morning?"

"No. Sorry, Haze, it really can't. I've gotta get this done, but I promise I'll come by this weekend and we'll make up for some lost time, eh?" He gave her a little wink that made her smile again, even as her cheeks turned a rosy red.

"Promise?"

"Wild thorns and rabid bats couldn't keep me away." He replied, grinning boyishly at her.

Hazel groaned, slapping a hand to her face. "Oh gawd, Eric!"

He broke out laughing as she now chased him out of the apartment, pushing on the small of his back as she herded him toward the door. "Out! Out out out, take your horrible puns and get out of here before I change my mind and refuse to let you leave!"

Still laughing he spun on his heel at the door, stole a quick kiss from her, and then back-pedaled out into the hall, giving a goofy finger wave as he departed.

Hazel made her way back into her living room and picked up the bouquet of roses and took them to the kitchen. Beautiful red petals, soft and just barely blooming, they reminded her of Pamela's lips. The flowers would see at least a half a weeks life in the vase if she found them a nice spot with a little sun, she hoped she could make them last longer but she had her doubts.

With a contented sigh she made her way back to the living room, beyond it to the dining nook, where she placed the roses on the table just in front of her window. She breathed in their scent again, smiling to herself, then returned to the living room couch and sat down. She turned on David Letterman, then opened the box of chocolates. To her surprise, a hand written note tumbled from the box lid down onto the coffee table.

With one brow raised in curiosity Hazel reached out and picked up the paper. It had been carefully folded into the shape of a heart and the sight of it made her smile again. Eric had written it by hand, in deep green ink upon soft parchment stationary.

_Haze,_

_ Sorry times two. I want you to understand just how sorry I am. I was a complete asshole, and if you're reading this then that means you accepted the chocolates, and my apology. Thanks, gorgeous, you're a dream!_

_ I want you to know, I'm going to make everything right by you. I finally get why you worked so hard to help Ivy, she's worth helping, she's wonderful, a goddess._

Hazel paused in her reading to smile thoughtfully, Eric really did understand, he finally saw in Pamela what she did. She was wonderful, she was a goddess, she could do so much for so many if they were only kind enough to give her a second chance. Her eyes dropped back to the paper and continued reading, and her smile began to fade.

_I've found a way to make it all up to her. Soon she'll understand how sorry I am for hurting you, and for doubting her. I'm going to make everything right. I've found someone for her, someone special. Once I've reunited them, I think she'll finally have what she's been missing all these years. She'll be able to move on with her life, she'll be the person you told me she could be. And all the world will be green again._

It wasn't right, she wasn't sure what he meant, but whatever it was it was bad. These weren't the words of her beloved boyfriend, but the words of a man obsessed, worshipful, or worse, entranced. She had to find him, she had to find him before he did something stupid, before he fell victim to her the same way so many other men had.


	33. Late Night Visitor

Fists hammering on the door at 12:30 in the morning. This never happened before she agreed to let a couple of parolees stay in her loft. With the fingers of her right hand curled into something akin to a tigress's claws she stalked down the hall, past the guest room Ivy and Harley shared, and too the front door. She cheeked the peephole. Then checked it a second time, with a feeling of bewilderment. Opening the door she beheld a disheveled looking woman of about 5' 8" with dark brown hair and frantic eyes.

"Miss Kyle?" The woman asked, trying to sound vaguely professional, though her frenzied state of mind rather ruined that attempt.

"That depends on whose asking."

"Oh... Sorry, sorry, Uhm.. Birch." The woman extended a hand. "Doctor Hazel Birch."

Recognition entered Selina's eyes as she shook the psychiatrist's hand. "Ivy's doctor."

Hazel nodded. "I... I Went looking for her. They said she and Miss Quinzel had relocated to their parole sponsor's house and, well, your address was listed."

"Yes, they're here." Selina replied wearily, stepping aside. "C'mon on in."

"IVY!" Selina snapped, after shutting the door, her voice cutting the air like a bull whip.

Pamela wandered out of the guest room wearing nothing but a pair of stargazer pink panties over her soft green skin. Selina groaned in annoyance, covering her eyes with her hand, then dragging her fingers across her face as if contemplating shredding her own flesh as a means of physical therapy. Dr. Birch blushed furiously and averted her gaze. Pamela looked between the other two women with an amused smirk. "What? It's nothing you don't see every day in the mirror!"

She paused when she realized who Selina's guest was. For a moment she gazed at Hazel in disbelief.

"Dr. Birch?"

Hazel looked up, still blushing, but nodded. "I'm sorry for coming here so late but... Pamela, I need to talk to you. In private?"

Selina waved a dismissive hand. "Pam, sure you lock the door when she leaves."

"Yes, yes, I know the basic rules of a house hold, Selina, thank you." Isley replied as the dark haired women brush paced her and headed back to her own room.

"Come, Doctor, come sit down. You look dreadful, is something wrong?" Pamela asked, gently guiding Hazel down the hall to the living room. The only source of illumination came from the balcony doors, the blinds drawn back to let in the light of the city skyline and the moon overhead as the two women sat down across from one another on the couch.

"It's Eric." Hazel said as she settled into her seat.

"Your ex?"

"Ex-ex." Hazel replied, her tone more hopeful than joyful. "He showed up this evening, flowers, chocolates, and such an apology. He really wanted me to know how sorry he was, and he made me feel like ME again, and he felt like himself and just... It was wonderful."

"I'm sensing a _but_ a coming..." Pamela guessed grimly as she watched her doctor.

Hazel nodded softly, reaching into her blouse pocket and pulling out the apology note she'd found in the chocolates. "When he left, I found this in the candy box."

Pamela took the note, her expression darkening with each word read. "Oh dear..."

Hazel studied Pamela's face intently. She had to know. She didn't want to believe it, but she had to be sure Pamela hadn't done anything on purpose. The worried look of anguish on Pamela's face told her all she needed to know. For a moment the two womens eyes met in unspoken understanding.

"It's been a long time since someone became obsessed with me without my intentionally meaning for it to happen." Pamela mused mournfully.

"I don't think he meant for it too. But they never do, people become obsessed by accident, through trauma and mistakes. He and I had a fight about you... And now he thinks pleasing you is the way to fix it all and make it right again."

"And if the police find out about it, they won't believe he's obsessed of his own accord."

"Right. They'll believe it's all your doing. They'll blame you, and if he does anything incriminating, your parole will be over..."

Pamela sighed weakly, hanging her head and closing her eyes. "I just... Wanted things to be normal again. A normal life, a chance to prove I could be a functional member of society again."

"I know, Pam, I know. There's still chance, but only if we can find him."

"You think that's possible?" Pamela asked, looking up at the psychiatrist hopefully.

"I think we've got to try. Do you have any idea who this person is he mentions in the note? Someone you've been looking for?"

Isley shook her head. "No idea. I'm not exactly the social type anymore. Other than Harley and Selina... Well, and you, I don't really have any friends amongst people. I haven't a clue who he could of thought he found that would make me happy."

"All right. We'll have to find him then. Come on, we'll start at his apartment."

Pamela hesitated, considering the risks with violating her parole.

"Pam, you're with your psychiatrist, it will be okay, I promise."

The reformed villainess sighed and rose from the couch. "Let me get some clothes."

As Isley made her way out to the hall, Hazel caught herself ogling the beautiful woman's well rounded posterior. Blushing brightly once more Hazel quickly averted her eyes, gazing out the window instead as she mentally reprimanded herself, she had a boyfriend, Pamela was a patient, she was _straight_! She drove home that final point like a nail into a coffin, forcing any flights of fancy from her mind. A few moments later Pam returned, and Hazel gasped in surprise. The woman's green skin was now a gently tanned natural Caucasian hue and her vibrant fire red hair was a lighter more gingery tone. She could easily pass for a completely natural woman, perhaps even go unrecognized for who she really was.

"Plants change their colors with the seasons, and this surprises you?" Pamela asked with momentary amusement as she pulled her long red hair back, holding it back with a simple brown barrette.

"I just... I never knew."

"I could be black, if you think it would help me blend in better. Perhaps even darken my hair, though it would take considerably more time than we have at the moment.

"I'm sure this plenty, Pam." Hazel stammered.

"Then we'd better get moving."

_**

* * *

**_

"They're heading out the door. I'm going to follow them."

"**No**."

"Ex_cuse_ you? You remember who you're talking to, stud? I'm doing you a favor, I'm not one of your little birdies."

"Selina, listen to me." He growled, his tone leaving no room for argument, even from her. "This is one of the most complex schemes she's ever hatched. Whatever she's up to, it's not going to be pleasant-"

"And you don't want me getting in the line of fire, yes, yes, I know, and it's very sweet that you care so much about little Kitty but I can tak-"

"This Isn't. About. YOU." He snarled, biting off each word with so much force and finality that it almost felt like he was physically touching her.

For a moment there was icy silence from them both. Finally he let out a calming breath and spoke again, his tone almost emotionless.

"It isn't about you, Selina; yes, I would be concerned for your safety more than most others, I admit that, but right now my chief concern is finding out what Ivy is up to. I can't afford to be considering the safety of outside entities. Having Birch in her proximity is already more outside interference than I had hoped to have to deal with. Right now I need you to stay where you are, and make sure that Quinn doesn't get involved. I need Ivy as isolated as physically possible."

Selina remained silent for a minute longer, just to drive home the point that she was mad at him. When she was satisfied that her point was made she relented. "All right. I'll make sure Quinn stays away, but what are you going to do? It's time you clued me in."

"I'm going after Eric Walsh. He's an unknown variable, he has to be contained, Ivy knows it as well as I do. If I can find him, I'll find her too."

"What about the psychiatrist?"

"She's safe. She trusts Ivy, believes in her. Ivy never gets rid of a worshiper, she thrives on that sort of attention, just look at Quinn."

It was Selina's turn to give a monosyllabic response, but where the Bat grunted, the Cat hissed.

"Just keep Quinn from getting involved... And thank you, Selina."

It threw her. He'd gone from biting her her head off to showing her gratitude in the span of a couple minutes. She wasn't used to this side of him, he was different when a Rogue had him on edge, jumpy, even savage, and yet somehow more raw and human than she was used to. By the time she'd processed it enough to try and tell him he was welcome, or remind him that he owed her one now, he had already dropped the call.

* * *

Harley was fast asleep when the light from the windows caught the golden green glint of the 'Cat's Eye' goggles that gave her such keen night vision during her after dark prowls across Gotham's darkened roof tops. The blonde was wearing a baby-doll tee and gym shorts as sleeping attire and had her arms wrapped tightly around a new stuff animal Pamela bought her on their way over to Selina's.

There was only one bed in Selina's guest bedroom, but she had known that Ivy and Quinn wouldn't mind sharing. There was more to their relationship than even Batman acknowledged. It was true Ivy liked the way Harley seemed to worship the ground she walked on, but what she really loved was that Harley didn't care about how beautiful she was, or how powerful she was. Harley didn't see all that, she just liked Ivy as a person. She wasn't obsessed with her the way others were, she just liked her, wanted to be her friend, or more, and it was this that fac that Selina knew made Ivy care so greatly for her. Harley was special, and Batman was right to want to keep her out of the situation, she would only make it more difficult to contain Ivy when things came to a head, so the Catwoman slunk through the darkened bedroom, moving through the shadows till she stood at Harley's bedside. Normally she reserved knock out drops for the particularly pesky guards, or the occasional watch dog, but how else was she supposed to make sure Harley stayed put while she went after Ivy and Birch?

She couldn't just abandoned the doctor, she knew Batman was probably right, she knew Ivy wouldn't intend to hurt Birch, but she also knew first hand that Ivy had one hell of a short temper whenever things didn't got her way. All it would take was one little problem in her plan to make her go from Mother Nature to Nature's Wrath, and Birch wouldn't stand a chance if she was stick in the same room with Ivy during such a situation.

Harley's tongue flicked out as the knock out drops touched her lips. She mumbled something about being too full to eat more cotton candy, then rolled over and continued sleeping as the chemical took affect and she slipped into an even deeper state of unconsciousness, while Catwoman slipped out a set of riot cuffs, simple plastic cord which police used to quickly detain individuals during emergency situations. She wrapped the cord around Harley's wrist and the bed post, then ratcheted it closed. The only way Harley would get out was if someone else cut her loose.

Content that the blissful blonde wouldn't be going anywhere Catwoman retreated out of the room and quickly departed the loft to track down Isley and Birch.


	34. Fertilizer

(The Following Chapter is Rated M for Mature for Violence, Ideological Controversy, and Sexual Themes)

"There has to be something! Some way of tracking him!" Hazel exclaimed as she rummaged through Eric's writing desk, while Pamela slowly stalked through the apartment, examining things, hunting for any clue as to who Eric was looking for.

"We'll never find anything if your idea of searching is to ransack every drawer and cupboard." Pamela said, stepping up behind Hazel and staying her hand as she reached for the next drawer handle.

The psychiatrist paused, then let out an exasperated sigh. "I know- I know, I'm sorry. I just... I don't want him to do something stupid, he could ruin his life, he could ruin _your _life!"

"He won't." Pamela replied soothingly, while gently rubbing the back of Hazel's palm.

"He will if he ends up kidnapping someone, or getting caught kidnapping someone, then tells the police he's doing it for _you!_"

The words hung in the air as Pamela gazed into her eyes. Birch was now keenly aware of what close proximity she had to her patient. The red head stood behind her, full breasts pressed to Hazel's back, her soft hand still resting on top of the doctor's own, her eyes like emerald pools so very close, staring intently back at Hazel.

"I'm curious Hazel... Who is it your more concerned for the welfare of, me, or Eric?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." Pamela said, while gently slid her hand along Hazel's hand, and then up along her forearm, gently taking hold of the doctor so she couldn't pull away. "If you really just wanted to stop him from making a foolish mistake you would have come to him right away, but instead you came to me. You brought me into the situation, you showed me the note, when it could be evidence against me, it could prove I actually was responsible for Eric's behavior."

"But you're not, I knew you weren't, I just—"

"Needed proof. You had to know I wasn't, it was important to you to know I wasn't responsible for his actions... Why?"

"I... I don't know."

"Don't know, or don't want to admit it?" Pamela asked, her left hand rising to stop Hazel as the Doctor tried to look away. "Tell me, Doctor. Why did you need to know? Is it because your reputation would be ruined if I turned out to have been using you all this time? Because you were worried I might be using Eric, and his life could be in danger? Or... Is it because you're the one whose actually obsessed with me?"

"D-don't be ridiculous. Our relationship is purely professional!" Dr. Birch stammered, her gaze wavering, trying to look anywhere except into Pamela's bright green eyes.

"No it's not." Isley said with a sly smile. "It never was. You're positively obsessed, doctor, you have been from long before we met."

"That's preposterous." Hazel replied, her eyes finally meeting Pamela's again, and suddenly finding herself unable to look away.

"Is it?" she cooed, looking down at the shorter woman, her deep red lips just inches away. "Think about it, Doctor. I'm your world. You devoted your entire doctoral thesis to me, to my diagnosis, my treatment, my psyche. I've been your obsession for years. I didn't even have to do anything, except to nurture the seeds you'd already planted in your own mind; to be the woman you believed me to be, to be the goddess you believed I could be. You worship me, Hazel, and you've been ever so faithfully helpful to me."

Hazel whimpered in denial, unable to bring herself to speak. She felt light headed, her mind a torrent of conflicting thoughts and emotions as she stared helplessly into her patient's vibrant green eyes. Green, it was such a beautiful color, so beautiful that, she could stare into those eyes for eternity.

"I still need your help, Hazel. You will help me, won't you?" Isley whispered, leaning so close her lips were almost touching her psychiatrist's.

"Of course I'll help you, helping you is all I've ever wanted to do!"

"I know," Ivy gushed, her voice filled with loving approval as she stroked Hazel's cheek gently, "and you have, you've been _so_ helpful over all these long, arduous months. There's just a little more work to be done."

"I'll do it. I'll do anything!" Hazel whispered urgently, gazing up at Poison Ivy desperate to help however she could.

"So faithful... That's my girl." Ivy whispered back, giving Hazel a loving smile.

The Doctor's heart blossomed, she'd never felt such joy. She could smell honey suckle and strawberries, she felt light headed, no, light bodied, as if she could just float away upon a cloud. When Ivy's lips met hers the last shred of resistance faded away, her arms lifted to coil around Ivy's neck, desperately clutching to the villainess, frantically returning the kiss as if every ending it would mean to end her own life.

The sweet scent continued to waft through the air and soothe her mind as her tongue wrestled with Ivy's own and her body ached for something more, a plaintive moan slipped from her lips as Ivy broke the kiss, leaving a trail of saliva between their mouths till she flicked out her tongue and wiped it away.

"Tsk tsk, doctor... Such an inappropriate relationship with your patient, whatever will the medical board say?"

"Your opinion is all that matters, Pamela..." Hazel replied, still staring up at the other woman in adoration.

"Mmmh, please, doctor... Call me Ivy."

* * *

The door to Eric Walsh's office slid open quietly, even at this late hour the Gotham Forensic's lab still had a few late night techs hard at work and he didn't wish to draw their attention. A roll of his shoulders pushed the cape back out of his way as he moved around the office. He rolled the chair back out of the way as he looked over Walsh's desk, then plugged his scanner into the USB port of the computer. Within two minutes the scanner had determined Walsh's computer activities over the last week and within seconds of that it had highlighted every web link that might be of interest to the detective.

His eyes roamed the scanner's list. He scowled, then scrolled further down, it wasn't an expert investigation, but it was far from amateurish, Eric Walsh had done a very thorough job. As he neared the end of the list his grip on the scanner tightened as his eyes widened in understanding and alarm. Snatching the scanner out of the port he slipped it back into his belt and moved for the door, but something had caught his ear. Noise. Movement, but it wasn't outside, someone was in the office with him.

He whirled around, the cape billowing out around him as his eyes roamed the room. He lifted a hand and tapped the side of his cowl just over his temple. The lenses re-calibrated to an enhanced vision mode. A heat signature behind the large filing cabinet. With astonishing strength he hauled the cabinet away from the wall, the noise would attract attention, but while people tried to figure out what it was he would have the suspect and be long gone; or so he thought.

His eyes widened at the sight before him, his jaw dropping in shock and revulsion. The dark knight himself recoiled away from the hole that had been carved into the wall and the sight that lay inside the hollowed out opening. Most of the Eric Walsh's body was withered and drained of liquid, his face gaunt, possessing an ever lasting haunted expression. His limbs were contorted into strange positions, his head hanging unnaturally to the side and his jaw hanging wide open, a thick vine growing out of it with a bright tropical flowering at it's peak, hanging over Walsh's head in the dark hollow. The strange plant was consuming Walsh's body for fertilizer, eating away at flesh and muscle at such a rapid, unnatural rate that the corpse wasn't even going through natural decomposition, preventing it from stinking, or drawing unwanted attention; what little smell lingered in the room went unnoticed amongst the scent of decay and chemicals common to the forensic lab.

It was a perfect hiding place, he was furious not to have thought to investigate this possibility sooner. The real Eric Walsh had been dead for months, replaced by one of Ivy's Green Man pod grown clones, grown from this very plant. With an animalistic growl he reached toward the flower to rend it out of the victim's desecrated body. With startling speed the flower moved, it swiveled around like a para-scope, facing directly at him, pedals spreading out widely. He barely had time to lift the cape as a trio of barbs shot from a slender orifice at the center of the flower, the spines struck against the thick fabric of his cape and fell to the ground as he spun his opposite hand out, severing the flower from it's stem with a swift lash from the razor edge of a batarang.

The plant squealed and shrieked like a wounded animal, vines and roots writhing, causing Eric Walsh's body to jump and writhe as if being reanimated before the Batman's eyes. Running feet could be heard in the hall way. With another surge of strength he hauled the filing cabinet across the office and shoved it up against the office door. The plant would soon be dead, but he didn't have time to stay and explain things to the forensics department. As the plant continued to shriek and writhe, and someone outside hammered on the office door, the detective slipped out the window into the night.


	35. The Harley and The Ivy

"Come on... Come on. Pick up the damn phone!" Allison Blake muttered urgently, jostling her leg in agitation. The U.S. Marshall was sitting at her desk, a flurry of papers scattered across it in front of her computer's monitor screen, giving theories of time and place for the disappearance of her charge.

"Marshall Blake." The deep voice growled after two rings.

A sigh of blended relief and frustration hissed through clenched teeth. "Finally! Look, I don't know when yet, within the past 24 hours, bu-"

"Context, Blake."

"Pierce! He's gone!"

"What!"

The car screeched to a halt as he slammed on the breaks, spinning the powerful vehicle a full 180, gloved hands flew across the control console of the super computer built into the dash of the car, servos and gears whirred as the automated system began running through the list of all potential hideouts and lairs currently available to the manipulative temptress.

"Explain. Now." He snarled as the car shot off, heading for the closest possibility; the investigation had just become a hunt.

* * *

Through her Cat's Eye goggles she was able to see Ivy and Dr. Birch perfectly as they made their way into Eric Walsh's apartment, but once they disappeared in side she had nothing. Her only option was to sit and wait, knowing that eventually they'd come out and return to the car, so she sat... and waited... And WAITED. Thirty minutes had passed! How long does it take to search an apartment! Ivy was a pro; she knew never to linger anywhere while executing a plan, what in Bast's name were they doing in there!

She wished there was a skylight, Gotham was full of convenient skylights, but on a forensic analyst's salary? Dream on, kitty. She had to content herself with waiting, watching the silhouette, watching the car sitting out front, biding her time. This was not the sort of Cat-and-Mouse she enjoyed playing.

"Waiting sure stinks, don't it, Kitty?"

Catwoman whirled with all the grace and agility of her name sake. Her right hand cocked back with the whip already gripped, ready to lash out at the flick of a wrist. Her new companion was just a short distance away, sitting on the lip of the rooftop, her legs dangling over the side and kicking impatiently. This was a problem. Harley's mere presence was a problem, that she had wormed her way out of her restraints was a bigger problem, that she was in **full costume** was a problem of titanic proportions.

"Harley... What are you doing out here?"

"I might ask you the same t'ing ya know! And whats the big idea tyin' me to my bed, huh!" She asked, springing to her feet and placing her hands upon her hips, her jester tails bouncing upon her head. "I mean, we all know you're into the kinky stuff—skin tight leather an' a whip, an all—but tyin' ME up! That kitten won't purr, Kitty!"

Catwoman groaned and tugged her goggles up in order to massage the bridge of her nose. Harley was dangerous, 4 years spent working with the Joker promised that; she could be sweet and unassuming one moment, and violently aggressive the next, but physical confrontation didn't concern Selina, she'd beat Harley before, she could do it again... No, it was Harley's capability to distract people that worried her. Catwoman prided herself on her ability to focus, as well as her ability to multi-task; both were necessities for any good thief, but Harley on her A-Game was wily enough to demand full attention, and she was very good at making sure people gave it to her.

"Look, Harley, I'm sorry I cuffed you to your bed, okay? I just had to make sure that both you and Ivy weren't making a huge mistake, and judging by your costume, you're thinking about making one."

"Hey, hey, hey, hold on a minute! I ain't done nothin', just because I'm in costume don't mean I'm commitin' a crime, capeche!"

"All right," Catwoman canted her head and cocked her hip, "why are you in costume then?"

"Well what else am I supposed to wear to follow you half-way across the city!" Harley asked, throwing her hands in the air with such gusto that she threw herself off balance and staggered backwards.

Selina sighed again, closing her eyes a moment, murmuring a prayer for patience to whatever god might listen. "No, Harley, I mean why are you in costume _at all_? Part of your parole is that Harley Quinn ceases to be, and you return to being Harleen Quinzel."

"Aw c'mon kitty, it's BORING!" Harley wailed loudly, prompting Catwoman to lunge forward and clamp a hand over Harley's mouth. "MMPH!"

"SHH! Keep it down!" The thief hissed, glaring for a moment. "Can you do that?"

Harley nodded, making her jester tails bob again. Catwoman slowly pulled her hand back and Harley gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I forgot we were spyin'! Hey, what're we spyin' on anyway?"

"I'm waiting for Ivy and her Doctor to leave her boyfriend's apartment."

"Ivy has a BOYFRIEND!" Harley erupted incredulously, and with the slightest hint of jealous anger in her voice.

Selina slapped a hand over her face, groaning in frustration. "No! Not HER Boyfriend, the Doctor's boyfriend!"

"Oooooooh... and we care becaaaaauuuse?" Harley asked next, following the other woman back to the edge of the roof to look over at the opposite building, where a light on the second floor occasionally cast a feminine silhouette across the drawn shade.

"_Because_ I think Ivy's using her."

"Whaaaaaat? Aw c'mon, Kitty! Jus' cause she went out late at night wit' her! If people called the cops every time Pammy went out late with a pretty girl ol' Gordy would be up to his fuzzy old ears in paper work!"

Selina grit her teeth, releasing another slow, calming sigh. "No, Harley, not _just_ because she's out with a woman, because the woman _happens_ to be her doctor and _happens _to be having issues with her boyfriend, and _ happens_ to think that her _patient_ is the best person to turn to for help with the problem. I'm sorry, Harley, I know we both wanted to believe Pamela had gone straight, but this just doesn't sit right..."

Harley sighed sadly. "Yeah, I'm sorry too, Kitty...YOU WERE RIGHT, RED!"

Catwoman turned back around just in time to see the vines lunging, but not in time to get out of their way. A pair of them coiled around her ankles and yanked her off her feet. A third slithered around her neck, pulling just tight enough to keep her from being able to cry out, and a fourth weaved around her left wrist, and then yanked it towards her write to coil around both arms in a tight figure eight loop. The damned things moved faster than a python catching prey, and like those deadly serpents the more she struggled the more the vines tightened.

Finally ceasing her struggle Selina glare up at Harley. "Harley, don't let her do this! She has a chance here, a real chance to- MMPH!" Selina's eyes bulged and nostrils flared in outrage as Harley stuffed a massive clown hanky into her mouth as a gag.

"Thank you, Harl..." A sultry sigh whispered across the roof top, while behind her quiet footfalls announced the barefoot approach of one of Gotham's most powerful metahumans, relishing in the glory of a warm night and the strength of her babies in the height of the spring season.

"Selina, Selina, Selina..." Ivy cooed in a gentle disapproving whisper, as she made her way over to stand beside Harley and gaze down at the captive Catwoman. "We Gotham Girls are supposed to stick together; now how can we trust you if you go around spying on us and tying us up?"

"Yeah—not to mention it's getting kinda predictable!" Harley chimed in with a laugh.

"It _is_ isn't it Harl?" Ivy lamented, looking down at Selina and then over at Harley with a melodramatic pout. "Do you think she's losing her touch?"

"Kitty!" Harley said, wide eyed, clapping a hand over her mouth for a moment. "Perish the thought, Red, perish the thought! I t'ink she's just jonesin' for a little Batty Unf Unf Unf," she thrust her pelvic for emphasis at each of these gutteral sounds, "and its got her head a lil' loose!"

"Now, now, Harl, don't be crass." Ivy chided, though the smirk on her rose red lips betrayed her amusement. "We'll have plenty of time to muse upon Selina's questionable liaisons and true allegiances later, for now we need to decide what to _do_ with her."

"Hrrrrmmmmmmmmm!" Harley hummed loudly, while her expression became intensely contemplative. "Puddin' would say attach her to cat food processor, hit the on switch, then disable the trigger so Batsy can't turn it off!"

Ivy's smile wilted and a strong scent of lemon citrus filled the air at the mention of Harley's beloved beau. "Yes, well, _Puddin_'," she spat the pet name out with a tone of utmost loathing, " isn't here. Besides, I'd think after killing one of the Batman's precious little Birds your _Puddin_' would have figured out that killing people Batman cares about just adds fuel to his fire."

Harley fluttered her eyes, pausing to think about this observation, but Ivy continued.

"And I can't deny that she's grown on me... After all, you did open your home to us, Selina." Ivy knelt down at this and stroked Selina's cheek in a fashion that was just a little too slow and ponderous for Selina's comfort. "And I always reward those who help me..."

"So what're we gonna do wit' her, Red?" Harley asked, looking curiously at the other villainess.

Poison Ivy stood up, the wicked smirk back on her lips, and turned towards Harley. She lifted a hand to veil her mouth from Selina's gaze, then she leaned close and began to whisper in Harley's ear. The Jester girl gasped, then her eyes widened, her eye brows jumped, her lips spread into a huge grin, and finally she began to giggle in gleeful amusement. "_LOVE_ it!"


	36. Hedera Helix

As the call to Marshall Blake ended he left the comm open.

"Go." He said in a voice more growl than word.

"I'm picking up all Pierce's phone conversations in the past 24 hours via WayneTech satellite and I'm reviewing his business and personal e-mails now. You really think Ivy's out to get him?" Oracle asked, after relaying her current progress to the crusader.

"No."

"No?" she echoed in a bewildered tone.

"This is too complicated. Too intense, she won't have gone to all this trouble just to kill him; she could do that without all this effort."

"Then why is she doing this?"

He was silent for longer than Oracle was comfortable with. He was still thinking, still piecing it all together—she was used to him already having it all figured out—whenever it took him this long to figure out what one of the Rogues was up to it usually meant a high casualty count. She knew this was already weighing on him, that he was probably hammering himself on the inside for not being able to realize Ivy's intentions yet.

"We need to find her." he said at last, the words spat out as if it disgusted him to say them.

"Already working on it. No signs of sudden or unexpected growth in Robinson Park or any of the local outdoor gardens. It seems like she—wait! I've got something. The old Botanical Gardens… Yeah, this is her, the gardens are over grown."

With a shrieking hiss of mechanized breaks and peeling rubber the jet-propelled vehicle pulled a brutal 180 degree turn in the middle of the nearly deserted road. Gotham drivers already knew to always give that monstrous car a wide birth; no one was in his way when he performed the maneuver and by the time he'd finished it the few vehicles on the road were pulling towards the curb, allowing him to fire the thrusters and launch himself back down the boulevard with the engine of the Batmobile belching flame and roaring like a demonic prince.

* * *

Franklin Pierce had gone through the day on an adrenaline rush and now that he had arrived in Gotham City he realized that this was probably the longest day of his life. He was exhausted when he finally retrieved his luggage after the red eye flight to Gotham. He was still on Seattle time and the coffee he picked up on his way through the terminals didn't do much to help, even if it was some of the strongest he had ever tasted.

How could he do this? Why was he doing it? His entire agreement with Witness Protection had gone up in the flames the moment he boarded his flight. The gravity of the situation was finally starting to hit him when he heard his name. There was a woman in brown slacks and a silver blouse behind him. The woman was accompanied by a man with the brightest green eyes Frank had ever seen, when the man spoke he realized it was the person he had spoken with on the phone, the person who offered him the chance to finally meet and reconcile with his daughter.

"Let me get that bag for you, Mr. Pierce." Eric offered with a pleasant smile.

There was something about Eric Walsh's movements, from his extended hand to his smile, that didn't sit right with Frank. It was almost like watching a well rendered CGI movie, everyone looked extremely realistic and life like, but they lacked the little facial tics and imperfections that distinguish a living human from a graphic rendering.

Eric's smile didn't reach his eyes, and his gestures were slow and methodical as thought he had to plan out every motion before performing it. It was just beginning to make Frank feel truly unsettled when the woman caught his attention and distracted him from the rising suspicion in his mind.

"Mr. Pierce, I'm Dr. Hazel Birch, your daughter's psychiatrist." said the woman, extending a delicate hand to shake Frank's own.

"Oh! Of course, we spoke before I boarded the plane, thank you so much, you have no idea how much it means to me to know she wants to meet again." Franklin said, shaking Doctor Birch's hand with both of his own.

"It's the only thing she's expressed real interest in since her parole." Hazel replied with a warm smile that was everything Eric's wasn't.

"Is- Is she here?"

"No, she's waiting for us at a place she thought would be more comfortable for everyone. If you'll just follow Eric we can be there shortly."

With nothing but joy in his heart Franklin now happily followed Eric as the younger man walked through baggage claim with a slow, loping stride. Eric's route took them out to a waiting car, where Franklin and Hazel settled in the back while he made his way up front. As he settled into the driver's seat and started the car Eric smiled, he knew that soon his Mistress would have what she wanted, she would be happy, and she would adore him for his service to her.

* * *

With a whine of twisting cable the grapple line recoiled into the grapnel gun, hauling the caped crusader through the air and up to the roof of the old botanical gardens. This old building had become outdated over a decade ago, but the gardens had only gotten a new home a year ago. Ivy had never used this building as a lair before tonight, but he always knew she would eventually so it was one of the first places he checked whenever she was loose in the city.

Before he even got close to the skylight he could tell something was wrong. Something was writhing against the glass, clumped tight and squirming in discomfort and agitation. The sight was something like night crawlers packed tight in a bait jar, piles of writhing tendrils slithering over one another, but these weren't worms.

"You're out doing yourself tonight, Ivy." He said, with a modicum of respect blended into a disdainful sneer.

As he got close to the window he recognized the plant life—hedera helix, better known as English ivy. When it was well maintained, such as at Ivy League schools, it was viewed as a mark of distinction, but without proper care it went wild. In this instance, Ivy must have produced something with accelerated growth, and she had made a clever choice.

English Ivy was notoriously difficult to defeat with an herbicide, the only guaranteed way to stop it is removal by hand, and he didn't have the time or the raw strength to uproot and entire building full of the stuff—luckily, he wouldn't have to.

Reaching into his belt he procured a small capsule of luminous blue fluid. With a flick of his wrist he threw the capsule against the window, shattering the capsule and unleashing the cryogenic flash-freeze compound inside. It was something he had created after reverse-engineering one of Mr. Freeze's weapons.

As the window froze over with a sheet of icy the writhing vines pressing against it chilled, and then froze as well. For almost 20 yards around the window the rapidly growing vegetation creaked to a halt. Ivy and glass shattered and the dark knight plummeted through the window into the central chamber of the old gardens.

The moment he hit the ground vines began to grow over his boots and wrap around his legs. Another capsule stopped them, allowing him to kick his way free and look around, his eyes hunting for any movement other than slithering vines.

Above his head something moved, a body, suspended by a length of rope he recognized as hemp.

"Selina…"

The Catwoman was hanging upside down by her ankles. Her entire hands were bounded together in a huge ball of duct tape, ensuring she wouldn't be clawing her way free, and she was completely unconscious. All of this, however, was secondary—his primary concern now was that the ivy had already overgrown the rope she was hanging from, and had coil around the entirety of her legs, all the way up to her waist. This wasn't Ivy's lair; it was a delay to keep him from finding her faster than she wanted.

* * *

**[Author's Note]**

_Readers, I'm very sorry this took so long to get to you. My studies this year and family obligations have completely consumed my time, but the semester is about over and I'm now able to get back into this story and bring it to its much-anticipated conclusion!_

_Thanks for all your patience!_


	37. The Cat and The Bat

The grapnel claw bit into a support beam running along the glass ceiling. The cable whirred and whined then went taut and yanked him into the air; with his cape billowing out behind him the Dark Knight's body was launched toward the captive Catwoman. As the coiling of the line slowed he was brought to a rest hanging parallel to the bound thief, with his free hand he pulled free one of the razor-sharp batarangs contained in his belt and used it to begin hacking at the ivy coiling tighter and tighter around Selina's ankles.

Hacking at the dense vegetation was a lot harder to do with a batarang than it was with a machete, doubly so when he knew that somewhere under all that plant life there were a pair of human legs. With his teeth gritted and eyes narrowed he continued to hack at the vines, growling to himself as the fast-growing vinery started to recover almost as quickly as he cut at it.

"Selina! Selina wake up!" he bellowed as he worked.

The Catwoman remained motionless and after a few more unanswered shouts he resorted to a less polite means of rousing her, he kicked her in the shoulder.

"GET UP!"

This time the Batman's roar was such a demanding snarl that his on-again off-again lover and nemesis snapped her eyes open with an angry hiss.

"Don't take that to-ooowwnnn—Ow! My head.. Wha- Batman? Why- WHY AM I UPSIDE DOWN!"

"Not now. I need you to get working. Get your hands free, I can't get you out of this alone."

"Get me out of wha- Oh Jesus," her sudden realization came as she looked up at him and her own vine-wrapped feet, "dammit… I should have known."

She began to wriggle within the vines that held her, and then she noticed the duct tape holding her hands together. "What in the—Harley… Those two together are a god damn nightmare."

"Relax," he said, lowering himself on the grapnel line so that he was at chest level with her bound hands.

He pulled a small aerosol can out of his belt and sprayed some of its contents on the ball of tape. The adhesive backing of the long silver ribbons suddenly lost cohesion and the tape fell away from her hands like a slain serpent. The moment she was free Catwoman bent double and put her inch long claws to work on the vines holding her in the air.

"Thanks stud and you'd better catch me when I fall."

He grunted in response, but that simple sound was enough for her to hear the unspoken "Have I ever not been there to catch you?" in his voice. She smiled faintly and continued working while he descended several yards on the bat-line and suspended himself beneath her poised to catch her as soon as she fell free of the vines.

* * *

"Is this it?" Frank asked as the car pulled up in front of the gothic stone building.

"We thought that this would be the safest environment for your reunion and Pamela agreed," Dr. Birch replied soothingly as she climbed out of the car.

"Well, I suppose so…" said Frank as they approached the massive oak front doors.

Dr. Birch stepped into the entry lobby of Arkham Asylum's front office and approached the desk where the night clerk was looking through files on his computer. As she drew close the young man looked up at her with a placid smile and a wistful expression.

"Good evening, Doctor Birch, Ivy is waiting in the garden…"

"Thanks, Roger; this way Mr. Pierce," Hazel called out.

Eric walked past Franklin, giving him a polite smile as he went, and the older man followed with a growing sense of uncertainty. "A-are you sure meeting her in a garden is a good idea?"

"Don't worry," Hazel said, glancing back over her shoulder at him with a reassuring smile, "gardens don't have the same affect that they used to have on her. Now they just help her keep a clear head."

"Ah… And she's—I mean, she really wants to see me; after all that's happened between us I thought she never wanted me to contact her again."

"She's been quite emphatic about meeting you. She's said she can't return to her life without reuniting with her father."

Frank's uncertainty diminished again and an eager smile spread across his lips as he followed after Dr. Birch. Perhaps if he had not been so eager to see his daughter he might have taken more notice of the world around him. It was late and after lights out in a mental institution there wasn't much activity aside from a few patrolling guards, but the few men he did see all seemed remarkably relaxed. He should have noticed that those peaceful expressions and gentle—almost dopey—smiles shouldn't have been on the faces of every single guard. He should have noticed it, but he didn't, all he thought about was being reunited with the daughter he considered lost many years ago.

* * *

Catwoman shook herself from head to toe once she and the caped crusader had finally managed to wrestle their through the skylight of the vine-smothered botanical building. She turned to face him, unsure what to say. She knew that he knew the only reason she went after Ivy and Harley was because he told her not to and she hated it when he tried to tell her what to do. The sensible thing really would have been not to get involved at all. She was made at herself for being careless but still just as annoyed with him for trying to give her an order, knowing full well she would rebel against it.

Batman didn't seem to have any such frustrations; he wasn't even looking at her. The moment they escaped he had thrown another cryo-bomb over the shattered skylight to reseal it and try to contain the vines within. While Catwoman was busy wrestling over what to say to him he was trying to figure out how to contain the overgrowing foliage. English Ivy didn't stop, it would even grow over itself time after time, eventually it was going to break through the foundations of the building and start spreading.

Putting a hand over the side of his cowl he radioed to his ever-present assistant and spoke in that sharp, no nonsense voice used only in dire circumstances, "Oracle, contact commissioner Gordon, tell him we need the Cryogenic Response Team down here _now._"

"CRT? I thought this was Poison Ivy?"

"We need _fire_. A _lot_ of fire. Have the basic Meta-response SWAT here as well, if the vines get out of this building the entire block could be over run within 90 minutes."

"Geeze… All right, boss, I'm on it! What about Catwoman?"

"She's safe."

"Okay, I'll get the GCPD en route."

"Good. Batman out."

Taking his hand away from the cowl's transmitter he turned his gaze back toward Catwoman. Despite the danger of the situation Selina flashed a naughty smile at him. He was annoyed at her for disobeying his orders; she loved it when he was irritated, he was at his most enticing when he had a slow simmering fury boiling under the calm surface.

"You should have known it would happen when you tried to tell me what to do," she purred, still smiling.

"I did."

Selina's smile slipped, "Bat-beau, if you say you turned me into a step in your response plan—"

"She expects this to keep me busy, she's counted on me staying here to over-see the safe elimination of the plant life."

"You really think she'd purposefully sacrifice her 'babies' for her plan?"

"We all make sacrifices for what we hold most dear, she loves her plants, but she loves herself most of all. She wants something; she'll sacrifice whatever she needs to get it."

"But you're not going to stay? Who is supposed to make sure that CRT does the job ri—No! No. Bruce, NO."

"I don't have time to argue."

"I am _not_ one of your little trained birds!" she snapped angrily. "I don't wear a gardener's coveralls, I am not armed with weed-b-gone, and I am NOT an ally of the police department!"

He was pulled out a new grapnel line even as she argued against his unspoken intention. While she continued her protests he handed her a small pouch full of pill sized cryo-bombs and stuffed it into her gloved hand.

"They'll freeze up to 20 feet of vegetation, use them on any vines that get outside the building. I'll radio Oracle and make sure she informs Commissioner Gordon that you're on our side tonight."

"I don't _have_ a side, I never have, I'm—"

"Just taking care of yourself," he finished for her with a curt nod. "I know, and you still are. We're 3 blocks from your pent house, Selina; your home, your _cats_ and your way of living are in imminent danger. You don't have to do this for me, or for Gotham; it can be all about you, if that's really what you want."

Selina hissed at him then snarled in frustration and clutched the pouch of cryo-bombs tightly.

"You are an arrogant, self-righteous pig."

"You're an impossible woman."

She pressed her lips but the corners twitched in a grin that demanded to be let free. A split second later she lunged forward and stole a sudden kiss from him.

"Good luck."


	38. Daddy Dearest

The wrought iron doors creaked slightly as they swung wide, gaping to reveal a beautiful interior garden flourishing with flowers and planets. Frank was startled to enter such a lush, tropical atmosphere after traveling through what felt like miles of dark, imposing corridors inside the asylum. The world around him was peaceful, lively and welcoming. The air was warm and filled with fragrant aromas, nearby he could see an elegant koi pond with a little fountain bubbling at its center, and at the center of the garden he saw her.

She was sitting under a cherry blossom, she was smiling, and she looked like his little girl again. Rosy skin, soft, curly ginger hair, and a warm look in her vibrant green eyes.

"Daddy," she spoke the title quietly, as if concerned that just speaking to loud might cause him to run like a startled squirrel.

Hesitantly Frank looked at Dr. Birch. Hazel smiled at him and nodded gently, it was all the encouragement he needed; with caution forgotten he rushed forward suddenly embracing his daughter in the tightest hug he had ever given her. As his arms coiled around her he heard a desperate sigh of relief leave her lips then felt her hug him in return.

"I thought you hated me," she whispered mournfully.

"Hate you?" he said, his voice cracking in shock as he pulled back and held her at arm's length. "Pammy… Oh, darling, no; never… I thought you hated me! I mean… After what you did…"

"Oh daddy, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I was sick, I was sick and I was angry and I couldn't even control myself."

"It's okay! It's okay, darling, I forgive you… It doesn't matter what you did before. You're back to your old self," he beamed at her, his eyes brimming with tears. "My daughter's back. That's all I've ever wanted."

Ivy blinked rapidly to fight back her tears, moving in close and hugging him again. "I've missed you, Daddy… I've missed you so much. I really thought you'd stopped caring."

"Oh, Pammy," he crooned softly, stroking a hand through his daughter's hair. "Not a day went by when I didn't think of you."

"Really?"

"Of course!"

"What about Christmas?"

"Oh, darling, every Christmas morning," he replied with a sad smile.

"…Then why did you stop sending me Christmas cards?" she asked, her voice turning cold as the fresh-turned soil at an open grave.

* * *

"Boss," Oracle's voice snapped over the commline while the car's computer screen shifted from radar to a security feed, "I found something on the airport security feed."

The camera feed darkened while a highlighted figure stood out on screen, Francis Andrews AKA Franklin Pierce. The aging banker was agitated and nervous, making his way through the airport's thin redeye hour crowds. After retrieving his duffle he made his way towards the exit gates and was met by a man and a woman, both of them highlight on the screen.

"Freeze," the Batman commanded, the screen stopped in place.

"I've already confirmed the woman is Dr. Birch, but I'm not sure who the other man is—"

"It's not a man," he said, cutting off Oracle's report, "That's the pod plant Ivy used to replace Eric Walsh."

"Eugh! Do you think Birch knows it?"

"I doubt she would care even if she did; I should have seen it soon," he spun the wheel, pulling the car into an abrupt ninety degree turn before gunning the engine, "she's been under Ivy's sway from the beginning."

"The beginning? But you said when you spoke to her she was telling the truth—"

"She was, she honestly wants to help Ivy, she's just too infatuated to realize that her help was being abused, and now it's too late… Ivy's always enjoyed finding ways to annoy the Joker; I should have realized what she was up to!"

"Okay, you've lost me…" Oracle said, her voice perfectly reflecting the frown of confusion on her face as she tried to follow her mentor's logic.

"Harleen Quinzel."

Oracle gasped in sudden understanding. The Batmobile roared down the highway, thundering across the bridge out of town, toward Arkham Asylum.

"But I still don't get it, what's she trying to do? All this trouble just to kill her father?"

"No… Too simple, she'd never got to such measures just to kill him; which means I may have a chance to save him!"

* * *

"Pamela… I'm so sorry, dearest, but it was federal law; I had to join witness protection, people said you wanted me dead, I had to cut all ties to my old life, they wouldn't let me contact anyone, especially you!"

"Do you think mother would have done it?"

The question made her father squint his eyes and furrow his brow in confusion.

"Would she have done what, Pammy?"

"Abandon me," Ivy replied, her cold stare turning into a smoldering glare that made her father shrink back and glance toward Dr. Birch.

The doctor was gone, along with her boyfriend. He was alone in the Arkham Garden with his angry daughter, and yet, he felt as if every plant had a pair of eyes, watching him, judging him for his decisions.

"Answer me, father. Would she have done it?"

". . . No. No, she wouldn't."

"But you did—"

"Pamela I—"

"You could have lied! You could have said they got lost in the mail, or that the Marshall's caught you when you tried, hell, you could have said you'd joined the Go Green movement and were shunning wastes of paper; but no! No, the truth is you abandoned your only child, left to be cared for in a mental institution where they lock her in a dark room, refuse to allow her a glimpse of sunlight or a touch of fresh grass, drill her with questions day in and day out about whether she was ever sexually abused, bullied as a child, picked on in school, or suffered under an abusive lover!"

"Pamela, I didn't know! I'm so sorry, I didn't have any idea it was so miserable here, I thought you were getting help, I Thought this place could save you—"

"But you never _checked_ did you, father? You left me here in this dark, dank, wretched excuse for a home; you abandoned me to the psychological pokes and prods of imbeciles in lab coats who dare to call me insane because I can feel the pain of a life force their self-centered minds can never hope to comprehend!"

Tears were welling in his eyes as Frank collapsed to his knees and clutched his daughter's legs.

"Forgive me, forgive me! Oh god, Pamela, forgive me; I was a fool, I'm sorry, darling, I wish I could undo it all!"

"Shhhh, shh, shh," Ivy hissed in a coddling whisper, kneeling down to gently embrace her father, "It's okay, Daddy, it's okay… I forgive you; I even know how you can make it up to me."

The old man looked up at his daughter, his grief replaced by sudden delight at her words, "Name it, Pammy, whatever you want!"

Poison Ivy's rose petal lips coiled into a smile as sly as a viper's and her green eyes danced with delight as she spoke her next words, soft as the spring breeze.

"Stay with me, here, so I'll never need be lonely when I'm trapped inside these walls…"

The intention of her words didn't sink in until the plants had begun to move. Her felt them slithering over the tops of his feet, causing him to scramble to his feet.

"Pamela! Pammy what are you doing!"

"Don't fight it daddy," she cooed gently, smiling benignly as more writhing roots broke through the grass and soil and snapped around his ankles, pinning him down. "It will be over so much faster if you relax…"


	39. Security

Everything was making sense now, but in a way that made no sense at all. He knew now what she was after, but he couldn't figure out why. The rising gothic exterior gates of Arkham Asylum rose up on the road before him, writhing and slithering as if brought to life. As the headlights reached them he saw the vines crawling up over the wrought iron, reinforcing it to resist intrusion, with the flick of a button and the toss of a lever the car plunged forward, belching flame and frying the vines that attempted to hold it back as it crashed through the gates. The vehicle roared up the central drive and shrieked to a halt with smoke billowing from the raw tires as he leapt out of the vehicle and raced for the massive double doors.

The doors flew open with a crash as he barreled into the front lobby. Instantly he was overwhelmed by greened guards, their bloodshot eyes making them look like the most pathetic of sinus allergy victims as they lunged for him jabbing with stun batons and swinging riot sticks. He hated dealing with Ivy because of this; Ivy, Hatter, Scarecrow, they didn't fight like criminals, they wormed into the minds of innocent people and turned them into raving lunatics, making them fight with the ferocity of rabid animals. These men were not in their right minds, they would never attempt to hurt him under normal circumstances, but now they were doing their best to ensure he didn't survive the night.

He was as gentle as he could be while avoiding injury to himself, which wasn't as gentle as he would have liked. He had to slow down, using concussive blows and nerve jabs, attacks that would incapacitate without causing serious injury to the victims. After 20 minutes, and what he estimated was nearly half of Arkham's security staff, he had cleared the lobby. He straightened up and rolled his shoulders then stumbled forward as a final guard caught him from behind in a bear hug grip. With a jerk of his head the dark knight brought his armored head back in a reverse headbutt, he heard the unpleasant crack of a shattering nose and grimaced in disapproval at the damage dealt as Captain Marlow tumbled to the ground unconscious. He lost another 2 minutes as he bent over the incapacitated guard captain and popped his nose back into proper alignment, hoping that it would help ensure an easier recovery.

Two hallways later the Batman entered the first checkpoint for the secure facilities. As he stepped into this more heavily fortified room he was met by a slurping sound and turned his gaze toward the enclosed guard desk built against the back wall of the room. Inside the desk chamber Harley Quinn was sipping on a can of soda through a bendy straw and using one of the security TV's to watch an episode of True Blood. His presence almost went unnoticed at first but as he drew near she turned her head then jumped out of her seat with a shriek of delight, abandoning her cola to the floor while the straw was still clenched between her lips and teeth.

"B-MAN! Ya made it," the once brilliant psychiatrist exclaimed, her voice muffled slightly by the straw impeding her pronunciation, "Red didn't think they'd slow ya down long but I was startin' to wonder if maybe one'a those goons got lucky!"

The Batman's eyes narrowed as he advanced on the security desk, one well planted sonic batarang would shatter the glass then he could follow through with a lunge, deliver a palm side smack to her ear and a headbutt for good measure. He could drop her in under two minutes…

"Where is she, Harley?"

"Uhmm," she stalled, scratching her head and pinching her tongue between her teeth in thought, "Which one, Red, or the Doc?"

He paused in his stride, caught off guard by the question. His hands tightened into fists while his eyes narrowed to razor thin slits behind the cowl.

"What have the two of you done with Hazel Birch?"

"Oh Red didn't do anythin' with her, B-man!" Harley piped with a cheerful smile, "But me… Well come ON, B! She's harpin' in on my bit! That just don't sit right… Can't say I like her too much."

"Where is she, Quinn?" he snarled, the intensity in his voice ratcheting up several notches as his every step forward seemed to strike with the force of a military drum beat.

"Lemme think… Red's in the garden, but I imagine ya already figured that one, huh, B?"

His lips pulled back into a snarl that would make the meanest of dogs cower. Harley shrank back slightly at the sight, smile wilting as she quickly pointed toward a secondary door on the far side of the room. He whirled on his heel and made for the door, leaving Harley making faces at him from behind the 'safety' of the glassed in desk chamber. He punched in the door code on the keypad with the practiced ease of Arkham's own security staff. There wasn't a room in the facility he couldn't get into from at least three different avenues, even the ones a normal person would never think of as a viable entrance.

The door hissed open to reveal a long hallway that accessed several employee chambers, the lounge, two offices, a filing room, and several therapy review rooms. He took a step into the hall and the door slammed closed behind him, shutting so fast that it almost caught the scalloped edges of his cape; whirling about he turned and tried the access code. The friendly chime that played when access was granted was replaced by the crude buzz of denial from the keycode pad.

He retrieved for the palm computer from his built and accessed the key generator, he could be back through the door in under 5 minutes if he started now, but a noise drew his attention. There was a soft whimpering from the far end of the corridor, not quite a proper sob but something close. He turned around and started down the corridor, as he neared the end of it he noticed a pale light flickering under the crack of the last door on the right. The plaque next to the door read "Review Station 3" and a secondary notice requested quiet during footage review. He tried the knob and the door creaked open, obviously Harley wasn't too worried about anyone finding Dr. Birch before the damage was done.

Hazel was bound to a chair by duct tape and gagged the same way. Her eyelids had been taped open a pair of headphones had been secured to her head, leaving her looking rather like a silver mummy. In front of her two of the three flat screen TVs were active, on the left he saw familiar footage of Dr. Harleen Quinzel speaking with the Joker during a therapy session, and on the opposite screen a similar scene of Dr. Birch speaking with Poison Ivy. Over the center screen Harley had taped a piece of paper with big capitol letters in vibrant red ink reading: SHE USED YOU!

Hazel was trembling in her chair, tears were rolling down her cheeks and her bottom eyelids fluttered wildly in a desperate attempt to shut her eyes and stop watching the screen, as though the images were a poison seeping into her mind. The crusader leaned over her and hit the power button on the monitor system, then turned to the doctor. Her watery eyes looked up at him pleadingly, anguished remorse contorting her face in a fit of overwhelming emotion that intensified as he carefully removed the duct tape that was holding her eyelids unnaturally wide. The moment he removed the duct tape over her mouth she started babbling desperate apologies and explanations at such an incoherent rate that he had to cover her mouth to stop her.

"Slow down, breath, and tell me what happened."

"She just wanted to see him so badly, and she seemed so much better and I just! I didn't think, I _couldn't_ think! It was like she–"

"She got in your head."

"I didn't… I didn't know… I thought it only worked on men!"

"Pheromones are just a tool for her, doctor. Getting under peoples skin, getting into their heads, it's what she does. You aren't the first, you won't be the last… Strangely enough… Quinn did you a favor."

Doctor Birch looked up at him aghast and he nodded to the now blank monitor screens.

"The Joker used her, the same way Ivy's been using you, but there was no one there to warn Harley about the danger she was in or show her what the Joker was doing to her. In malevolent sort of way, she may have saved you from the same fate or worse…Ivy's puppets have a shorter life expectancy than winter flowers."

The Dark Knight charged back up the corridor toward the locked down doorway with his encryption key at the ready and Dr. Birch right on his heels.

"If Quinn is still there I'll take her the moment we go through the door. Once she's out of the way go straight to the security room. The way is clear; I've already taken care of the guards. When you reach the security center put everything in lockdown, cells, offices, all of it. Until I have Ivy under control anyone in the Asylum could be a threat to himself and others," he said as he prepared to open the door. "No matter what happens, once you're in the security room stay there and wait until we've regained control of the asylum, understand?"

"Yes!"

"As soon as I have Quinn you move, follow my instructions and don't leave that room until I or James Gordon come to get you. For now… Stay behind me."

* * *

**_A Note from the Author!_**

_Hello everyone,_

_I'd like to apologize for the abhorrent delay in getting the end of this story out for all of you to read.  
A trinity of family emergencies the likes of which could only happen in real life has kept me very busy.  
On the plus side, it's given me wonderful inspirations for just how bizarre life can be.  
Seriously, who could anticipate Cancer, Heart Disease, and Schizophrenia to all rear their ugly heads in various members of your family within months of one another?  
Things are beginning to settle down again and I hope to have my baby hear blossoming into a full grown story before March ends.  
Cheers to all of you readers who have stuck around, I'll try not to disappoint you with my conclusion!_


	40. The Old Ash Tree

You could call Harley Quinn a great many things, bimbo, imbecile, slut, freak, but you would always have to wonder if any of those descriptions were accurate. Was she really that foolish, or was it all a cover to make people underestimate her? He knew better than to believe Harley Quinn was as dumb as she so often pretended to be, none of them were what they pretended to be, and like any good actress Harley knew when to get off the stage.

She was gone when he and Doctor Birch returned to the security lobby. As the detective took in the empty room the nagging question of where she went and what she was up to entered his mind.

Did she run to free _him_ from his cell? No. She _wasn't_ stupid. She valued self-preservation, trying to free him before he was ready for his next "performance" would be a risk to her own life; would she go to Ivy, or would she run on her own? That one had an easy answer, Harley hated to work alone, she didn't like to acknowledge her own actions. It was easier for her to misbehave if she could sooth her guilt by saying someone else coerced her. She would wait for Ivy somewhere and he would be able to track her down once the real threat had been contained.

"Get to the security room," he ordered Dr. Birch, "and remember–"

"Not to come out no matter what!" Hazel said with a quick nod before looking up at the vigilante, "Batman… Ivy… She's not… I thought she wanted her freedom, she doesn't, all she's wanted this whole time-"

" I know. Go. Lock the door, contact the police, make them aware of everything you can. Go!"

Dr. Birch locked herself inside the security office and a heavy clang announced the automated locks dropping into place. Satisfied that she would be safe the Batman turned to the next hall, walking past a guidance sign pointing the way to the interior garden.

* * *

A moment of true horror is a rare experience for a human mind, it is something so terrifying that it will extend beyond comprehension. The thoughts that are beyond the imagination are the only ones worthy of a title. These are the machinations of Jonathan Crane and the others like him, the ones who comprehended what terror could be found in the simplest of places. When man imagines the creature lurking in the dark corners of the mind he thinks he has understood what horror really is, but true horror is rarely so simplistic, it can manifest in the most innocent places and wait behind the sweetest smiles.

Pamela Isley was smiling at her father, the same sweet, beguiling he remembered seeing on her face when she was a little girl. Her green fingered touch upon his cheek was soft as a spring petal and her lips were shining like an apple as she leaned close to him and draped her arms around his neck, breathing in time with… Not with him, with the other thing, the thing that was growing around him, consuming him like the pit within the pulp of a peach.

It was a strange sensation, to grow and die at the same time. He was being overgrown. Was that the right word? Was there a word for this? Bark was growing over his skin, forcing his body to stiffen and calcify, and worse yet, it felt as if he was actually a part of the transformation. He could feel things moving inside his body, as if his bones were ready to grow beyond the confines of his own flesh. Panic seized his mind but his heartbeat was slowing down, making his body slow and sluggish as he made a feeble attempt to break free of the moss and vines that were beginning to crawl over him like the rising tide.

"Pam…? Sweet heart…please…"

"Shhh," she cooed, nuzzling her cheek against his gently, "the more you struggle the more painful the process…"

Something was happening to his fingers now, but it didn't make sense. The body didn't work this way, a human being couldn't just transform into a… a tree. She was making him into a tree! His fingers were growing before his eyes, twisting and stiffening like arthritic joints. Every moment was a twisted agony the he couldn't comprehend.

"For what it's worth, you were right. You never should have come back." she said, walking around him in a predatory circle as his shoes split open and his toes extended, worm like, into the earth, slithering and writhing in their search for nutrients.

Frank's mind scrambled to understand what was happening. He was powerless, immobile, and keenly aware that he was going to be able to feel every last moment of his life as it was stripped away from him. He was beginning to understand it now, he wasn't dying, he was transforming! The only thing he ever wanted was to show her how sorry he was for failing her as a father, and now he would have his chance!

A part of him resisted the notion, rebelling at the idea of servitude. The green was wrong, it was wicked, consuming him, using him like mulch, and all he could do to protest it was to utter a feeble creaking groan like an old tree pressured by an autumn breeze.

His life would take on new meaning, new purpose, he would serve the glorious green! Somewhere in the depths of his mind a part of him continued to resist, some misunderstood corner of his conscious couldn't accept the will of his beloved goddess. Why? How could any man refuse her service, how could a piece of him rebel so furiously at her will? He tried his best to smother it, but the struggle continued even as his body stiffened into a motionless rigor mortis.

"There's a good boy," Ivy cooed dotingly as the creeping moss consumed his flesh, calcifying into flakes of mottled gray and brown wood mulch. "It's so much easier when you relax… Now I admit the staff may be put off, repulsed even, by the idea of a tree grown from human flesh, but I promise I'll never let them cut you down. You'll be a better provider now than you ever were as a father, you can give shade, oxygen, and even a hiding place for the little birds and squirrels fleeing for their lives from one of the inmates who's taken one too many blows to the head from that black clad lunatic."

Frank groaned again, swaying his branches. The eyes were going to be the last thing to go, they were drying out, he had never felt anything burn so badly; he wanted to scream but a wooden moan was the most that he could manage.

* * *

The Asylum felt like it was closing in on him as he ran. Every new hallway was more claustrophobic and the longer he ran the worse it got. Ivy had kept him running all night, playing catch up after each new delay. He was getting tired, his lungs were burning and muscles ached from the exertion. He felt as if his innards were collapsing in on one another, sucked into a black hole gaping open within the core of his body.

By the time he reached the interior gardens his entire body ached in protest of the strain he was placing on himself. He felt as though the weight of his gear had doubled, the belt, the equipment, the cowl, the cape, the armor, every piece slowed him down a little more and every night he made it look like it was weightless. The cape felt like a wet blanket pulling him towards the ground as he finally reached the doors to the gardens.

Rushing headlong into a hostile environment that provided a home field advantage to his enemy wasn't an ideal scenario. He needed time to plan, to scout out the garden and pinpoint Ivy's location, but time was a luxury gave up when he decided to handle the case on his own. It had been a mistake, another scenario he would never be able to let go of. He didn't have the luxury of a Hollywood world to work in, there wouldn't be a last moment rescue here, the practical truth was that he was no longer attempting a rescue; he was just trying to apprehend the assailant before she could flee the scene of the crime.

As he dashed into the gardens he anticipated green men, a body, Ivy protected by a thicket of thorns and flytraps the size of Volkswagens, but all he saw was the tree. There weren't supposed to be trees in the inner garden. This was listed as the primary insertion point for Gotham SWAT in the event of a riot. Riot cops would be airlifted in and be dropped into the gardens, giving them access to all four sections of the main building from that central point; this new tree prevent such an operation. The wide branches fanned out, almost completely covering the opening looking up into the night sky. The logical line of thought suggested Ivy had grown it upon arrival, specifically to prevent a police airdrop, but something about the gnarled old Ash kept his attention.

It was a strange tree, its trunk curved backward like a soldier puffing his chest out and at its height it forked into two thick branches thrown out like upraised arms. Close to the fork of the tree resting at the height of its trunk he could see a strange knotted indentation as if the tree was opening a mouth to scream, raising its limbs to the sky and stretching branchy fingers in the last clawing grasps of a dying man.

A blow to the mind was always worse than a physical strike. The Batman recoiled half a step, revolted by the sudden realization of what he was looking at.

"My god, Ivy… What have you _done_?"

It was the perfect moment for a dramatic entry, and Poison Ivy loved a good entrance, but there was no reply to his horrified question. The gentle whisper of the wind in Franklin Pierce's branches was the only response in the quiet garden.


	41. Sins of the Father

From her chair in the security room Dr. Birch watched in terrified fascination as Poison Ivy's plants overgrew her own father's body. She watched a sapling contort and coil to swallow a living form and grow over it like a twisted protective shell, adopting to the final staggering motions as Frank made a last grasp at freedom, staring up into the night sky and providing the garden's corner point security camera a perfect view of his anguished eyes and open mouth as a wooden groan rattled from his throat.

Hazel watched Ivy kiss the new grown tree's bark and then pull away to leave the gardens, exiting through the southern doors and heading for the far side of the Asylum. She watched as the chlorokinetic villainess slipped through the halls, stepping over unconscious orderlies and security officers, rousing them with little touches and gentle whispers, raising more and more distractions to delay the Batman as headed for the Asylum's southern exit. She watched as Ivy reached the exit doors and took a left at the exterior hall to double back through the build.

There was nothing to do but watch as the green woman made her way back through the hospital and reentered the interior security lobby, surrounded by greened guardsmen ready to fight and die for her whim. There was nothing that could be done, no way to stop her, the Batman was on the opposite end of the hospital now and Dr. Birch had no means of contacting him. All she could do was cower in her chair and watch as Ivy acquired Captain Marlow's ID card and used it to open the door to the security center .

"Hazel, here you are! I take it Harley got a little excessive?"

"A little!" the words were blurted out before Hazel could stop herself, "A _little_! She's insane! You're insane! My god, Pamela, he was your father!"

A hurt expression crossed her patient's face, a reluctant little nod was the most acknowledgment she got out of Pamela, but it was something to work with.

"What happened, Pam? You were so close, you could have finally been free of all this!"

"I know!" Pamela replied in a voice that cracked under sudden anguish. "I know I was, and I wanted that, I did, I just… I couldn't stop myself Hazel! First I thought I just wanted to see him again, then I saw him and… I just couldn't stand it… The thought of him, that he helped bring me into this world, that he helped ensure my existence…"

Dr. Birch's jaw dropped and her whole system seemed to slow down, enveloped by a sense of stunned dismay. It made so much sense, somewhere beneath the illness and madness Pamela Isley hated herself! She hated being the plant obsessed lunatic, murdering people because they dared buy a real Christmas Tree or ignored their 'duty' to plant new trees on earth day.

"It all makes sense… All this time… You don't hate men… You hate your father. You hate him because without him you wouldn't exist, and all the bad things you've done…"

Pamela was pressing her lips together. Her bottom eyelids quivered slightly, fighting to try and keep tears from welling as she looked at her psychiatrist and finally sobbed in frustrated anger.

"Oh Pamela," Dr. Birch said soothingly, rising from her chair and stepping closer, "you couldn't help it! You're a very sick woman, you lashed out irrationally, that's what people with these sorts of illnesses do. It wasn't on purpose."

"Of course it wasn't!" Pamela exclaimed in horror, "What sort of monster would plan to kill her own father! I just wanted to find him, to see him, and then – I never meant to kill him! It's not as if I've spent the past year coordinating every last detail, manipulating, replacing and controlling just so that I could finally get the one who go away!"

The sudden vehemence of Poison Ivy's words caused Hazel to recoil into her chair again, her sympathetic eyes filling with horror once more.

"I'm a sick person," Ivy continued in mournful tones. "After all, no one in their right mind could ever plan something this intricate…"

Hazel felt like a sickle had cut the air, reaping her thoughts before they had time to grow to maturity. Suddenly she was back in Belladonna Hayes home office, listening to the older psychiatrist recount her horrifying encounter with the Scarecrow and his theory on the patients locked up with him in Arkham Asylum. Reason finally began to shine a light into the darkness. A lunatic couldn't spend months plotting out every last detail of a plot this detailed. The cognitive faculties required for this level of planning were beyond the reach of any patient with a true psychotic illness. A growing sense of dreadful clarity over took her as Dr. Birch looked at her patient, watching the rose petal lips curl into a devilish smile of mutual comprehension.

"I'm a sick woman, Doctor," Ivy repeated, still smiling. "I can't contain my urges. He was my father, I would never intentionally plot to destroy him, I couldn't be harboring a deep rooted grudge because the accident he caused took my mother's life, and I certainly don't loathe him for running to witness protection, abandoning his own daughter to life in an asylum without ever even having the decency to send her a holiday card…"

Hazel felt as if she could tunnel through the wall now. Her most desperate desire was to escape that room, to get as far away from this woman as she possibly could, but Poison Ivy stood between her and the only door.

"I'm deranged, that's all! I couldn't help but stand there and enjoy it," the words oozed off her lips like an orgasmic moan, "watching the adoration in his eyes turn to dismay as his body contorted, listening to the last feeble groans turning to splintering creaks upon his lips..."

Ivy shuddered and sighed, arcing her back and fluttering her lashes as a gentle coo dripped off her lips and a dance of her fingertips dipped down across her pelvis in unspoken desire.

Hazel stammered wordlessly for what felt like eons, finally find her voice for only the most pointless observations.

"You're… My god–"

"Ess," the villainess prompted with a smirk.

"You're sick…"

"Hasn't that already be established?" Ivy asked demurely.

"No… No, not like this… You're not _ill. _You're just _sick_."

"Oh," Ivy clucked disapprovingly, "now, Hazel, you're going to hurt my feelings!"

"You're a monster…"

"Am I?" she asked quietly, slowly crossing the room, advancing on Hazel with a sumptuous swivel of her hips that distracted the psychiatrist's mind despite of her attempts to maintain focus.

"Do you reeeeeally think I'm a monster, Hazel?" Poison Ivy asked as she dropped into the doctor's lap.

Her melon sized breasts were pressed to Hazel's clavicle, forcing her chin to rest at the peak of the valley of cleavage, guiding her head up and ensuring that she had no choice but to look up into Ivy's unnaturally bright green eyes. The two women stared into each other as Ivy slowly weaved her thin green fingers through Dr. Birch's hair, twisting the strands around her digits like crawling vines upon a fence post.

"Am I sick, Hazel? Am I a monster?" she pulled Hazel's head in against her chest, forcing the other woman to breathe in the aroma of cinnamon and honeysuckle. "Or is that just what you're telling yourself, to try and make yourself feel better, so you can hide from the idea… After all, what if I'm not? What if I'm just another person, just as sane and cognizant as anyone else, with just a smidge less morality to hold me in check? What if…"

She gasped dramatically, letting her bottom lip brush Hazel's forehead.

"What if I'm sane? What if everything I've told you is _true_…? What if I really do talk to plants? What if I can really hear the grass _scream_ when people mow their lawns?" her voice gained renewed vehemence and anger as she continued. "What if it hurts me every time someone plucks a flower in the Arkham Gardens, what if deforestation is what's left me as a barren as our world is becoming! What if every single action is _perfectly_ _**justified**_, if you could just feel what I feel?"

Hazel choked out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob, provoking a little laugh from her tormenter.

"Of course, by morning you'll be calling me mad again. You can't accept all this as true, it's just too much to bear, after all if I'm just as sane as you then the world's just too dark a place isn't it?"

Ivy smiled condescendingly as she patted Hazel's head.

"It's all right, I understand, and now so do you. You'll say I'm mad, that I still need help, and maybe you'll even stay on… For a little while at least; but you'll go. Ecentually you'll run and you'll hide. You'll lock yourself up in some quiet little town and try to reclaim the happy world view you had before you knew that we're no different from the rest of you… We just don't hold back when the world does us wrong."

* * *

_[Author's Note] Readers be aware, I have just published a remastered version of chapter 11 for those of you who wish to remember Dr. Crane's guest lecture._


	42. Ideology

There was something deeply dissatisfying about catching her. He had to fight his way through the security squads a second time. They were no less vicious than before and he was still holding back to avoid hurting any of them too severely. She hid behind them, standing with her back to the wall, waiting in the security center with the very woman he was trying to keep her away from. She was hiding as if she was afraid of him, as if he was the threat in all of this, as if he was the one who made a habit of using people like puppets and destroying their lives.

Nothing would have been more satisfying than having an excuse to give her at least one good strike, but she didn't move an inch. The moment he entered the security center she pressed herself into the corner, giving him a pouty school girl expression as if she had been caught in the halls during class. His fists clenched so tightly he could feel his own pulse through his palm, despite the gloves. Ivy's mockery of innocence was so infuriating that he had to make a concentrated effort to relax his grip before damaging his own fingers.

Swiveling his head he regarded the doctor, still curled up in her chair in front of the security monitors, darting her eyes from Ivy to the Bat and back again.

"Are you all right?"

Hazel flinched at the sound of his voice then looked up at him with a meek nod. The dark knight's attention returned to Poison Ivy and his white eyes narrowed to twin edges within the depths of his cowl.

"Why, Isley?"

The question made her smile. She seemed genuinely surprised, lifting a quizzical brow and leaning towards him like a debate partner who's finally begun to understand her opponent's side of the argument.

"Oh Batman… Is that really all you're interested in? Shall I dive into the villainous monologue now, telling you the intricacies of my plan and the depths of my genius?" she asked, chuckling softly in perverse amusement. "I hate to disappoint your ego, but it's only the Clown, the Hatter, and Nigma bother to prep a script before they face you."

"This isn't a game Isley, he was your father!"

"Was?" she gasped in mock horror, "Did something happen?"

The snarl became more intense and Ivy responded by lifting a finger, shaking it back and forth while clucking her tongue.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk! Now, Batman, before you lose your head you had best consider the situation. Do you really think I'd kill my father? He isn't dead… In fact, he'll be here forever… Unless another bipedal swine decides to make some fresh firewood and holiday cards…"

The final statement threw him, in the middle of April her mind turned to Christmas? Why? For a moment he reeled back, trying to figure out what had provoked the statement but she was still talking and he knew better than to let his guard down for long.

"He gave me life, Batman. That deserves some acknowledgment. It's an honor, really. I took a wretched, drunken, neglectful human and made him into something noble and innocent! This wasn't murder, Batman… although it certainly could have been! Luring him out of hiding was so easy! All that took was a few tears and some reporters eager for a polarizing story…"

"You turned him int–"

"I transmogrified him from a mobile, bipedal life form to a rooted, plant-based life form. Still organic, still alive," she smiled slyly and her emerald eyes sparkled triumphantly. "Yes, I did break the law, but murder won't be one of the charges."

The gloating smile, and the sickening knowledge that she was right, was too much for him. He advanced with the ferocity of junkyard dog a sight was enough to send most criminals running in terror and typically caused even the rogues to shrink back in alarm…but not this time. Ivy remained as steadfastly rooted as her transformed father, her composure never broke and as he drew close she fixed him with the condescending glare of a respectable woman affronted by the poor behavior of a lonely barfly.

"Step. Back."

It was the way she said it that got him, that wasn't a demand or a plea, it was a threat. Beneath her words was an unspoken "or else" that told him she had planned for this moment. Her eyes cut to the security monitors and he suddenly realized that they weren't here by coincidence. She had planned for them to have their confrontation in this room… Why?

He backed off, only a half step, but enough to give her a little breathing room while he tried to figure out her end game. The smile on Ivy's lips had changed; it was the sort of smile a master of the game displayed when she realized her opponent wasn't familiarized with all of the rules.

"You don't want to play this game, Dark Knight, I've already won…"

He gave her a cold stare but she was unfazed by it. Isley had too much conviction to be moved by one of his glares. She didn't just think of herself as a Goddess, she believed it. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that she was a living embodiment of nature itself. When nature was defiled she was defiled and when it was disrespected so was she. In Ivy's mind she was the one fighting against evil, in a world where everyone else was against her. That was the sort of righteous fury that wouldn't be broken by any level of bat-malice, still the glare served a purpose beyond intimidation.

Though intimidation seemed pointless there was a benefit to his silence; people, when face to face with others, feel an innate need to fill a silence. He was quiet, so she talked, buying him time to try and piece together the final steps of her plan.

"It really is that important to you isn't it? You _need_ to know why I went to all this trouble!" she said, letting her smile turn into a regal smirk. "It has to _mean_ something. If I don't have a motivation then I'm just a monster, and when your enemy is a monster you have so much more trouble reminding yourself of why you never cross _that_ line…"

"I'm not here to argue ideology, Ivy."

"Aren't you," she asked coyly, "aren't we all, really? That's why I'm here, that's why Dr. Birch is here… Aren't you Hazel?"

Dr. Birch looked up with the expression of a student called upon to answer a question she hadn't heard the teacher ask.

"Wh-what..?" she asked meekly, looking up at Ivy uncertainly.

"Tell me, Doctor," she said, addressing the psychiatrist while maintaining her gaze on the Bat, "Do you believe I hear the voice of Gaea?"

"I… I believe that you believe it, Pamela."

"But _you_ don't believe… You don't believe I can hear my babies scream. You don't believe there's a reason for me to flinch when I hear a lawnmower, or cringe when someone plucks a flower in the park… You think all this talk about my plants is all a psychological contrivance, a way for me to deal with personal issues I'm too weak to face."

The Doctor's eyes flitted towards the Batman. The crusader nodded slightly, giving her enough reassurance to continue the conversation.

"That's not exactly how I would put it, but yes, I think most of your issues stem from psychological turmoil… the voices of the 'plants' are more likely signs of schizophrenia, which would also explain the volatility of your mood swings and behavior."

Ivy opened a palm towards Hazel, like a game show hostess showing the Batman the grand prize for winning the game.

"Ideological opinion! What I claim can't be real, it's too improbable for her to conceive of, so there has to be a more rational, more reasonable explanation! I suppose you'd call everything I've done some sort of 'desperate cry for help' wouldn't you, Hazel?"

"Yee-e-e-sss," Dr. Birch said, drawing out the word uncertainly as though she expected Ivy to flip at any moment, "it does seem that way, Pamela."

"You see, Batman? That's the problem with humans. They can't see beyond their own little ideological sphere. No one wants to look at things from the other side; no one is willing to hear what others have to say… Human are disgusting, bigoted, _weeds_," she breathed the last word with a contemptuous sneer and a tone of malice so venomous that it seemed like it would eat through the flesh and burn at the heart.

"Take my father for instance," she continued with the same venom in her voice, "even after I was locked up he would send me cards! _Cards_, Batman! Entire tree lines decimated so that some sentimental ape can open up an envelope with his hands instead of the click of a mouse! I told him to stop, the Asylum told him to stop, and when he finally did…? I started _missing_ the damned cards!"

The Bat grunted, the doctor stared, and Poison Ivy snarled. This wasn't a revelation Hazel had expected, it proved that her initial suspicions weren't unfounded after all! Ivy did still have some connection with her humanity; the problem was that Hazel believed she wanted to reconnect with that humanity when in reality she sought distance from it.

"Root rot, Batman," Poison Ivy hissed. "That's what he was to me, a degenerative disease that was corrupting my foundations, hindering my growth and devotion to the Green. I gave him a greater honor than he deserves! He was a wretched, neglectful, abusive excuse for a father, and when he finally hit rock bottom he didn't try to pick himself up, he chose to run away, change his name and hide from everything he had done wrong! Still… He is my father, and if nothing else I am grateful that he brought me into this world. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be who I am today, and Gaea would be without her guardian; for that alone he earned this chance at redemption, to be reborn as something innocent, noble, and selfless."

"Wait…" Dr. Bitch stammered, looking up at Ivy in dismay. "That's what this was! All of this, the reformation, the pleas for help, the therapy, all of it just one big con so you could…_Prune_ your family tree!"

Ivy's gaze shifted to Hazel. She turned her back on him. She gave all her attention to an Arkham doctor while he was still in the room. None of his enemies were so foolish, they knew how he worked and they knew turning their backs was tantamount to surrender. . . She had something, some sense of security, some knowledge that stopped him from being a threat to her, what was it!

"Pruning?" she said with a smirk, "I believe I did more growing than pruning! What's the matter, Doctor? You sound surprised that an asylum inmate would go to such lengths for such simple reasons!"

"Surprised! I'm outraged! I believed in you, I believed in your message, I thought you could be–"

"What? _Saved?_" Ivy sneered. "You really think you can _save_ me from this? You think I'd _want_ to be saved from this! I have tried for so long now to make people understand, but no one wants to _listen_. Even _you_ refuse to believe anything I say! Trying to talk sensibly gets me nothing but ridicule and accusations of insanity… And then someone like _you_ comes along, thinking a little logical thought, some kind words and whole lot prescription medication will make it all go away! How sane would you feel, doctor, if you could feel every pricked finger, every laceration, every bruise and break, of every human near you? How would you handle it if you were the only member of the species intelligent enough to be able to actually speak for your kind? The only one who could say: 'Stop it, you're hurting me' . . . and then you realize that the ones hurting you _don't care_. Don't come to me with ethics and morality, while your sickening species does nothing but wound, scar, and abuse every inch of Gaea's body! You're monsters, raping the very world she gave you without so much as an apology for the damage you've done… Don't look at me and call me monster, unless you're ready to look at yourselves."

In the silence that followed the Bat almost felt sympathy for her. He understood his enemies better than any psychiatrist in the Asylum could. Some were truly mad and some were sociopaths with no sense of right and wrong, but a few were just people who had been pushed farther than a human was meant to go.

The ferocity and anger waned, but he didn't let that show in his demeanor. He maintained his ivy stare, but Dr. Birch couldn't keep so calm. Poison Ivy's snarling response had struck her harder than a back hand slap, Ivy's very words seemed to carry a razor sharp enough to deliver a surgical cut that plunged straight to her heart, making her feel as if she was directly responsible for every injury to the world around her.

"I'm… Sorry, Pamela," Hazel said quietly, "I really am. I tried to understand, to help you, I just… I didn't really understand you after all... I'm so sorry."

"As you should be," Poison Ivy replied coolly, "as you all should be… _Will_ be…"

"You're not leaving, Ivy," the Dark Knight said definitively, still staring fixedly at her.

"Hmm?" she turned her gaze back toward him as if he were an afterthought. "Oh, yes… I suppose I've done the villainous monologue and now it's time for me to make a feeble attempt at combat before you slap me around and drag me back to my cell, like an abusive husband chasing his wife back to the kitchen."

She glared reproachfully into his unfeeling white eyes, and then gave him a half smile and an apologetic shrug. "I'm afraid I'm not interested in playing that game tonight… some other time?"

He shifted his weight to spring but something in her demeanor made him change. His mind rolled back over the past few minutes, her smiles, her glance to the security screen, the way she'd so willingly turned her attention to Dr. Birch as if he weren't even in the room, and that cunning smile that had edged back onto her face as they spoke.

"What _is_ your game, Ivy?"

"Oh… Now you want to know!" she chuckled, "I've been playing a very long game Batman, you already know that… You don't think I'd play this long without figuring out how to win, do you?"

She extended a hand towards him and her smile faded as her fingers clenched into a slow closing fist. Alarms began droning from the security console. Dr. Birch spun towards it.

"The cells!" she exclaimed, "No wait… the foundations?"

Dr. Birch looked up at the Batman in confusion as he looked at the screen then whirled on Ivy. She had moved when he had, now she was closer to the door, facing them both and still holding a have closed fist aloft.

"I can hear every plant on this island… but… they can hear me, too…" Poison Ivy said, now smiling so wide that it seemed rather demented. "The trees surrounding Arkham peninsula are some of the oldest and deepest rooted in the entirety of Gotham County? The roots wind through every acre of this area…"

"And when you want out, they know," Batman concluded through grit teeth.

"What can I say? Plants like me…"

"And you made sure Harley knew to be long gone when it was time for this part of the plan…"

"The only person in this place worth saving, still innocent enough to be taught to respect Mother Nature, still worthy of redemption," Ivy admitted with a nod. "The rest, however, are a lost cause."

"You would kill yourself too," he snarled.

"Oh no," she said with a chuckle, "No, the roots go deep, and stretch far… I could stay safe and sound right here, while they collapse each wing and ward… I'm sure you know how many are imprisoned here, Batman."

He did, too many and unlike the Rogues most of them were truly insane, incapable of understanding their own actions—innocent by way of insanity, undeserving a grisly burial amidst vicious roots with the ferocity of wild dogs.

"You won't get far, Ivy."

"You're probably right," she said, nodding at him and giving another triumphant smile. "But I'll get far enough. Enough to enjoy a little time before I'm brought back, and besides, you and your companions will need time to figure out a way to hold me… After all, now you know, all I have to do is _think_."

She blinked her eyes and the entire building rumbled ominously. Dr. Birch yelped and scrambled to her feet, the Bat throughout a hand to stabilize her and clenched the other hand into a fist. Ivy was already backpedalling towards the door and her laughter replaced the rumbling as the building steadied.

"Remember Batman, a single thought… You wouldn't want to catch up with me too soon and realize just how far my influence over them reaches… Oh, and Doctor," she said, looking at Hazel, "I do hope you don't give up as easily as Dr. Hayes, I think our sessions have shown marked improvement!"

She chuckled softly, blew them both a kiss, and ducked through the door.

* * *

A hybrid car was parked on Maple lane on the Gotham end of the Arkham Bridge. Under normally circumstances a leggy blonde in pigtails wouldn't be sitting alone in the car in the dark of a Gotham night. Several unscrupulous men had approached the car while she waited but all they had to do was take one look at the pale make up and ruby lips before they started running as fast as they could in the other direction.

The passenger door opened and Poison Ivy dropped into the seat, tucking her legs together primly as Harley started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

"So how'd it go?"

"Splendidly," Ivy said as she settled into her seat. "Do you have the tickets?"

"Vroom a zoom zoom!" Harley replied, holding up the envelope with one of the tickets just barely peeking out of the top.

"Good girl! Let's go, before the Bat or one of his little menaces shows up to spoil our vacation."

Harley nodded in eager agreement and the car zoomed off. Under normal circumstances it was hard to navigate Gotham's streets but at this hour traffic was a fever dream of daylight. They reached the highway and were on their way toward the airport before Harley finally broke the silence and pulled Ivy from her meditative quiet.

"Hey, Red?"

"Yes, Harl?" Ivy replied without opening her eyes.

"About the doc," Harley said slowly, hesitating to elaborate further.

Ivy opened her eyes and looked over at Harley with a raised brow.

"S'just… You an her… Uhm…" Harley mumbled, squirming under Ivy's stare.

"Harley," Ivy cooed, opening her eyes to look at the blonde. "Are you worried I'm going to replace you?"

Harley blushed, grateful for the concealing nature of her makeup, and looked back to the road. Poison Ivy chuckled huskily then leaned over and kissed Harley's cheek.

"Why would I ever replace a beautiful rose like you with a simple daffodil like her? She was a means to an end… and I suppose she was right, in a way."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm... I don't hate humanity, Harley; I wouldn't go to all the trouble of trying to teach them if I did… I spared Dr. Birch because, beside you, she's the first person to make an effort to understand me. Her mind is full of psychiatric dogma, but I think she has potential… Maybe one day there really will be a way for me to get my message to people without having to treat them the way they treat my babies, and she might help me spread it."

"Soooo, happy ending?" Harley guessed cheerfully.

Poison Ivy chuckled huskily and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes again. "I suppose that depends entirely upon your ideology, Harl."


	43. Thanks for Reading!

Hello everyone!

Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed and if you haven't? Let me know!

I want to know what you liked, I want to know what you hated, as long as it's constructive it's good for me to know! This story started as a little side project for me way back in 2009 as a way to kill time while awaiting the release of Batman: Arkham Asylum and it ended up turning into a labor of love (more labor than love if I'm honest!) that refused to let me go until I'd seen it through to the end. It's been a long run and there were a few times when I really just wanted to abandon it but I'm really glad to see it all the way through to the end.

If you really liked this story I hope you'll let me know, and if you want more of my work you can look forward to an original piece, not on FictionPress, but on store shelves! I hope to have it there by early 2014, and if you liked my character work in Inside Eden's Mind you'll love what I can do with original characters!

As for Poison Ivy, this is the end of this adventure for her but my hope is to go back and revise the chapters, cleaning up typos, errors in grammar, and other things easily overlooked when I first started this as nothing but a simple bit of fan fiction. I'll be honest when I say I don't know how often I'll revise chapters. The college semester is starting back up soon and it'll keep me very busy, but I'll keep a list on this page to note which chapters have been revised.

Thank you so very much for reading my story, supporting my work, and encouraging me to see it all the way through!


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